by Lucy Lennox
I placed my hand over hers on my cheek and squeezed before moving it back inside the car. “Goldie, hasn’t it occurred to you yet that most of the good gay men in town are either my brothers or cousins? I’d have to travel to Dallas or Austin to find someone, and nobody wants a long-distance relationship. Plus I don’t have time. I’m married to my job.”
She chuckled. “Pfft. Not true about the supply of good men. I happen to know of a certain military base nearby that is full of nice men. And statistically speaking, at least a good chunk of them are gay. You need to get a matchmaking app like the one your sister was talking about so you can find one.”
I rolled my eyes and laughed. “Oh my god, you sound as bad as my mother. Don’t worry. Hallie made all of us sign up for the one her boss is developing. And we both know she’ll force me to make use of it once the program is live. In the meantime, go feed Gene. I’ll stop by and check on Pippa.”
She smiled and turned the key in the ignition before looking back at me. “West?”
“Ma’am?”
“Go easy on Nico, will you? He’s having a hard time with everything.”
The concern in her eyes forced me to nod in agreement, but I knew deep down I didn’t give a shit about whether or not Nico Salerno was having a hard time. Any hard time he was having was one he deserved.
I made my way to my truck and threw my messenger bag across the cab to the passenger side before climbing into the driver’s seat. I wondered what Nico’s reaction to my unannounced visit would be. Maybe if I brought the guy dinner, he’d be less able to turn me away. A peace offering of sorts.
After swinging by Lou’s cafe, I pulled down the long driveway to Adriana’s house. Dark was settling in, and the evening breeze was blowing dried leaves off the trees. I wondered if the cooler weather would come soon.
As I pulled up to the parking area, I thought about how best to approach the prickly man in order to get some time with Pippa. The pasta dishes I’d picked up had filled the cab of the truck with a warm savory aroma, and my stomach began to complain about the unsatisfying salad I’d had for lunch.
I grabbed the bags of food and made my way to the front porch, stopping myself before opening the door. I hadn’t had to knock when visiting Adriana, but the cold reminder of her passing washed over me just as my hand grasped the knob.
Before I pressed the doorbell, I saw movement through the narrow glass to the right of the door. Nico was standing in the middle of the main room, cradling Pippa in one arm while lifting up the hem of his T-shirt with his other hand.
The shirt had a giant wet spot on the chest and shoulder as if Pippa had spit up all over him. His face was screwed into a grimace as he struggled to remove the soiled shirt while still holding the baby. As the hem of the shirt came up, it revealed miles and miles of ink over a flat stomach.
And that’s when it hit me again like a stroke to the groin. The man was attractive as all hell. For some reason I’d forgotten that little tidbit from the day of the funeral. I hadn’t been able to see much past the haze of my grief and anger. But now, seeing him as a regular guy not hidden in the stupid formal clothes he’d been wearing that day, I saw that he was stunning.
I’d always known my friend Adriana was beautiful. She’d garnered plenty of attention for being a lovely woman. But this man—her brother—was something even more exquisite. Looking at him was like looking at a rare gem collection. There were colors, details, and nuances it would take years to adequately appreciate. The hair, the ink, the piercings. The symmetrical features of his lovely face.
And the hooded eyes that held everything from fear and insecurity to loneliness.
Stop projecting, asshole.
I stood there, frozen, as the beautiful man bared his upper body. My eyes didn’t even know where to land—there was so much ink, and it was covering a tight, fit male body that was sparking the interest of my very lonely, pathetic dick. My heart rate ramped up as I tried to take it all in.
Tattoos covered almost every inch of his skin with the exception of a small blank area over his heart. The bare skin stood out in its uniqueness, and I wondered why in hell a man with so much art on his body had left a bare spot in the center of his chest.
Just as I’d suspected, there were piercings standing out on his nipples. Little matte black barbells from the look of it, and my mouth watered at the sight of them. I’d never been with someone with piercings like that. I wondered what it felt like for him to have them played with. I wondered what it would feel like to take them into my mouth and tug.
Jesus, fuck. My cock was plumping so quickly I had to shift the food bags to one hand so I could press and rearrange it. How in the world was this strange man making me so goddamned horny? Was I that hard up?
Yes.
Without a doubt, yes.
As I stared at him, I realized he’d dropped the shirt on the floor and gone back to cradling Pippa. It was amazing how different he was from the scrawny kid he’d been when I’d confronted him at the movie theater. He hadn’t developed into a big guy by any means, but his small biceps and shoulders were defined and flexed slightly as he shifted the baby in his arms. As he lifted Pippa to his shoulder, I saw the bumpy plane of his abdomen and could just barely make out a thin trail of hair leading from his belly button down into the low-riding waistband of a pair of black athletic pants.
The shiny purple-and-turquoise hair on his head was messy and all over the place as if he’d been running his fingers through it. There was so much to appreciate on the man I couldn’t look away.
I was still pressing a hand into the tight crotch of my pants when I realized he’d begun singing. Nico was singing a lullaby to my sweet Pippa, and I was practically jacking myself off at the sight of it. What kind of sicko was I?
Jesus, Weston. Head out of the gutter.
But the gutter is fucking glorious.
I remembered my long-standing vow never to trust my initial lust reaction to a hot guy.
Shaking my head in frustration, I reached out to press the doorbell, willing my dick to stand down before Nico could see the extent of my desperation. The man looked up at the sound and spied me through the door. I tried to look bored, but I wasn’t sure I pulled it off.
He opened the door and looked at me, not saying a word.
“Um, hi,” I said, knowing full well I was about to go into stupid babbling mode. “I have dinner for you. Us, I mean. I brought dinner for you. And me. To eat together. Well, we don’t have to eat together. But I brought enough for two. Although I guess I could just leave both portions with you and then you’d have leftovers. And, well, if I did that, I could make a sandwich at home. Matter of fact, why don’t you keep this. I’ll get out of your purple hair.”
Oh my god.
One corner of his mouth tilted up, and I felt my face flush. I quickly set the bags down inside the threshold and turned to go. Before I could step away, a hand shot out and grabbed my elbow. I froze at the touch but didn’t turn around to face him.
“Wait.” The voice was soft and sultry, causing even my cock to roll its eyes. Of course the man had a sexy voice now. Goldie was right. I really needed to find someone. This shit was getting out of control.
The voice of my dreams continued. “I think maybe she’s sick.”
And that’s all it took for a change to come over me. Gone was the lust-sick puppy who could almost taste the little black barbells on my tongue, and in his place was the pissed-off physician who loved Pippa and feared for her health at the hands of the inexperienced punk on the porch.
Chapter 7
Nico
I wouldn’t have ever had the guts to ask that man for help if I hadn’t seen the goofy, stuttering side of him he’d presented when I opened the door. It was like I was seeing a completely different man than the controlling bastard I’d met several days before or the cocky teen he’d been when I was a kid.
The asshole doctor had transformed for that one special moment into an adorable human
being—someone just as insecure as the rest of us and unable to control his mouth. I’d liked that guy. He’d seemed warm and sweet—approachable. Not the same snooty J.Crew model I’d met after the funeral or the horndog I’d overheard in the movie theater all those years ago.
But the minute I’d mentioned Pippa being sick, he’d turned back into Dr. Prick again.
“Give her to me,” he demanded, pushing past me into the house and reaching for the baby. “You should have brought her to me the minute you thought she was coming down with something.”
“Hold on there, jackass,” I said, feeling my hackles shoot up. “Take a breath. She’s not dying. And I only just realized something was off. I was going to call you.”
He got a few steps into the house before mumbling to himself and turning on his heel to walk right out again to his truck. I stood there staring after him through the late-September twilight, wondering if maybe he was the one who needed medical attention instead of Pippa.
“West?” I called after him. “You heading out so soon? Thanks for stopping by.” I couldn’t help but add a teasing tone to my voice even though it made him turn and shoot daggers at me with his eyes.
“Getting my medical bag,” he shot back before mumbling, “Smart-ass,” under his breath.
When he returned to the house, he closed the door behind us and gestured me over to the sofa. Once I sat down, I looked at him warily, reluctant for some reason to release Pippa into his care.
West removed a stethoscope from a carryall that looked more like a canvas tool bag than a traditional doctor’s bag. It was filled to the brim with first aid supplies and served as a strong reminder that this man truly was a physician. While he may have also been a jerk, he’d gone through years of medical training specifically to learn how to help small children like Pippa.
I lowered the baby from my shoulder to the deep cushion on the sofa between us. West immediately peeled back the blankets to check her out.
“Why isn’t she dressed?” he asked without looking up. He rapidly rubbed the diaphragm of the stethoscope against his own shirt to warm it up before placing it on the baby’s chest.
“I just bathed her. She was—”
“Shh,” he snapped, holding up his free hand to stop me from continuing.
I pursed my lips and narrowed my eyes at him. Fucking ass. Such a gigantic prick. Why ask me a question if he didn’t want to hear the answer?
As he listened to her heart and lungs, his slender fingers moved the stethoscope around her tiny bare chest. His hands looked gentle and capable despite being attached to someone with a giant ego. I could tell he cared about her or maybe just cared about all kids. I had to assume anyone who went through that much trouble and expense to become a family doctor had to care about children.
Adriana had been lucky to have a friend who liked kids—someone she could count on to help her figure all that baby stuff out. Or, hell, maybe it had come easier to her somehow. Easier than it had me anyway.
Goldie had spent several days of her time and God’s own stockpile of patience to help me learn how to do even the most basic things for Pippa. I could now feed her, change her, and bathe her. But giving her the first solo bath without Goldie’s help had just about killed me. I’d been convinced I was going to drown her or break her. Babies were slippery fuckers when wet.
I kept thinking about how much Griff and Sam would have cracked up seeing me transforming into babysitter extraordinaire this week. I hadn’t told Griff where I’d gone and had brushed off his texts and calls so far. I knew I needed to contact him soon to tell him where I was, but I also knew he’d come running. And I didn’t want to take him away from his own newborn to help me with Adriana’s.
“What’re her symptoms?” West asked in a soft voice. He was peering into her ears now with one of those pointy ear-looker things.
“She keeps throwing up,” I explained. “Every time I feed her she spits it all back up again.”
West’s tongue seemed to twist in his mouth to keep from smirking.
“What?” I asked. “I’m worried about her. She’s going to starve if she can’t keep her formula down, right?”
He wrapped the blankets back around Pippa and scooped her up onto his shoulder before beginning to pat her firmly on the back.
And that’s when I remembered.
Burping the baby. Burping the baby was a thing I was supposed to do after each bottle. Shit.
“Uh…,” I began. “I think…”
A holier-than-thou twinkle appeared in Dr. Beautiful’s smug face. “Mm-hmm. What do you think, Nico?”
I felt my teeth grind together at his tone, but there was no avoiding the way my name on his tongue made my groin tighten up.
“I think I may have just not burped her well enough, come to think of it.”
“Is that right? What made you realize that?” And as if on cue, a hearty burp came out of Princess Shits-Her-Pants.
I let out a breath and ran my hand through my hair. There was no getting around how bad at this I was.
“So you brought food?” I asked, standing up and hoping like hell the change in subject would wipe the smugness off his goddamned chiseled, J.Crew modeling face.
“I did. Picked up some pasta dishes from Lou’s. Hope you’re okay with pesto or Alfredo. I didn’t know what you liked.” West stood up from the sofa and followed me to the breakfast table with Pippa still on his shoulder.
“I like both. Thanks. I really appreciate it. I haven’t been out of the house since I got here, so anything from a restaurant is a nice change.”
I pulled down some plates and asked if he wanted a beer or soda. “I have some wine too, if you want,” I offered hesitantly. It wasn’t that I wanted to make nice with the doctor as much as I didn’t want to seem like a country bumpkin who only drank beer with his pasta.
“Nah, a beer is good, thanks,” he said. “You know… I’m happy to watch Pippa if you need to get out of here for a bit.”
I looked up at him, wondering exactly what he was getting at. Was he trying to get me to admit I needed a break? Well, fuck that. I wasn’t about to do anything to make him think I couldn’t handle the baby when I already knew he thought I was useless.
“Nope, I’m good,” I said a little too loudly.
West shook his head. “It’s okay to need a break, Nico. Taking care of a newborn isn’t easy. I wasn’t implying you go out clubbing. I just thought maybe you had errands you needed to run, and you yourself said you hadn’t left the house in days.”
He was beginning to sound an awful lot like a nice guy, and that didn’t exactly fit into my image of him. In fact, there was a part of me that didn’t want him to be nice. I didn’t want to like anyone in this shit town because then I’d have second thoughts about leaving when it was time to go. And I was sure as hell leaving the minute the adoption process was final.
“What’s wrong with clubbing?” I asked. “Surely there’s a good club here in Hobie, Texas?”
West barked out a laugh and shot me a twinkling look that nearly brought me to my knees. When his face lit up with a real smile like that, he was truly breathtaking.
“There’s a quasi motorcycle club. Does that count?” He snickered. “They meet up at Bud’s on the main highway but only on dollar-draft night.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle right along with him. Now that was the Hobie I remembered. Small town full of small-town people.
“I don’t think that’s the kind of club that would want me as a member,” I suggested.
“No, maybe not.”
I served us each some pasta from the takeout containers and thanked him again for bringing it. It wasn’t until I went to put a napkin in my lap that I realized I was shirtless.
“Oh shit,” I muttered, running my hand along my chest to my stomach as I stood. “Be right back. Sorry.” As I turned to place my napkin on the table, I caught West staring at my hand moving down my front. I was used to people staring at my tattoos with cur
ious glances, but this seemed different. Appreciative of the body, not the ink.
I knew it couldn’t be attraction of any kind because the man screamed straight—from his clean-cut button-down shirt to his boring-ass khaki pants. I had to assume he was a good ole Texas straight boy through and through.
Then I remembered the incident in the movie theater. He sure as hell hadn’t been straight then. But he had been friendly with Curt Billingham, and that was enough evidence to convict him of being an idiot at the very least.
Instead of taking the time to think about it further, I made my way back to the baby’s room where my bag was stashed and fished out a clean T-shirt before returning to the table to eat.
“Why is your stuff in the nursery?” he asked.
I looked up at West before glancing back toward the bedrooms. It would have been obvious to him that I’d turned left instead of right.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I let Goldie have Adriana’s room when she was here. I slept on the couch.”
“Why didn’t you sleep on the twin bed in the nursery?”
I rolled my eyes. Controlling much? Jesus. He didn’t need to know that I couldn’t sleep near Pippa because I spent the whole night having to mentally breathe for her. Every sound she made was surely her last one, and I’d been convinced she’d died of SIDS two hundred times over already. It was awful.
“Why are you so concerned with where I’m sleeping, Dr. Wilde?”
“I’m not. Forget about it.”
We ate in silence. West held Pippa on his shoulder with one hand while struggling to eat with the other. I finally felt sorry for him and offered to help.
“Let me hold her,” I said, reaching out to lift her off his shoulder.
His arms squeezed her tighter against his body, and I froze. Our eyes met over the bundle of blankets, and I could see remorse in them even though he still seemed reluctant to give her up. I remembered the day of the funeral, how possessive he’d been. It couldn’t be easy to go from being a part of this little girl’s world to not seeing her for several days.
