by Sam Burns
“You’re dating a damned fed,” his father said, voice hoarse and tone accusatory.
Oh. That explained it. He wasn’t sure how his father knew about the lunch, but he also wasn’t sure why he’d ever believed he had a moment’s privacy either, given his father’s controlling nature. He wondered if his father had someone watching him, as he’d once done to Alex, or if Mickey or Owen knew and had let something slip.
“I had one lunch with the agent who came around to ask me about you, Dad. He hasn’t even called me again.” Keegan decided to leave out the fact that the lunch had been less than two days earlier, and he fully expected to see Jon again.
“That’s unethical,” his father insisted with another cough. “He can’t date you and investigate you.”
“He’s not investigating me, he’s investigating you.” Which wasn’t strictly true either, since Jon had taken himself off the case, but Keegan really didn’t want to have a conversation about that. He was trying to downplay the whole relationship, at least as long as his father was sick.
His father, still coughing, waved a hand as though dismissing the argument. “Still a damned government agent,” he said, taking the glass of water from Keegan and downing half of it. “I’d expect this kind of thing from your brother, but never from you. Seeing him is dangerous for you.”
“It’s really not, Dad,” he denied, despite his early misgivings. Keegan stepped away to grab his dad’s sweater from the mahogany bureau and give them both a second to cool off. He understood his father’s hesitance, but there was nothing illegal to discover in Keegan’s actions. Also, Jon seemed to be doing a good job of separating Keegan and his work. “He’s not after me.”
His father gave him a look that had always been reserved for Owen in the past—an eye roll and sigh that implied it was a miracle that he remembered how to breathe. “Of course he’s after you. He’s trying to make you feel comfortable so you’ll slip and say something stupid.”
All of Keegan’s buried frustrations with his father bubbled to the surface with that one stupid comment. He slammed the bureau shut. “Seriously? Are you telling me that he’s dating me to get information about you? Jesus, Dad, I know you don’t trust federal agents, but that’s about the most self-centered thing I’ve ever heard. Did it even occur to you that maybe he’s dating me because he likes me?”
Brendan rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so damned naive. You’ve been out of the game too long. Gotten soft.” His sentences were clipped, and his voice still strained to complete each word. He really shouldn’t be talking at all.
“First of all, this conversation is over because you’re hurting yourself and need to rest,” Keegan told him, annoyance mounting. “And second, this conversation is over because it’s insulting and you don’t have a say in my love life.”
“Keegan Michael Thomas Quinn, you’re being a damn fool.” The words didn’t have the force behind them that Keegan was used to hearing. He wheezed, glared at the glass of water, and shoved it back at Keegan, almost spilling it on the blanket.
Keegan stuck out the red cashmere sweater he’d pulled from the bureau for him to take. “Call it whatever you want, Dad, but do it in your head, ‘cause like I said, this conversation is over.”
His father ripped the sweater out of his hands and jammed it over his head, almost getting an arm stuck in the neckline in his anger. When he had it on, he glared at Keegan again. “You won’t see him again.”
“We’ll see,” Keegan answered half-heartedly.
“We won’t see. I forbid it.”
Keegan blinked at his father, astonished. He forbade it? “I’m almost thirty. You don’t get to forbid it.”
“You won’t see him again,” his father insisted. “I—”
“I’m gonna go now, Dad,” Keegan interrupted. “Before one of us says something we’ll both regret.”
He turned and walked out of the room, heart beating wildly in his chest. He’d argued with his father before. Many times. In the end, though, he’d always capitulated. Keegan was the good son, the dutiful son, who’d always done what his father demanded. He had never walked away in the middle of an argument before.
He had just defied his father for the first time. And for what, an FBI agent he barely knew?
No. He had defied his father for a much simpler reason—his father was wrong. Keegan was a goddamned adult. He got to make his own decisions. His father didn’t get to forbid him from doing anything, least of all going on a few innocent dates with a handsome man.
He had defied his father because it was the right thing to do.
And because Brendan Quinn wasn’t immortal anymore.
The whole thing was ridiculous. He wasn’t a Capulet. Jon wasn’t a Montague. And he really wasn’t sure why he had just assigned himself the feminine role in his own stupid, nonexistent fantasy universe. Jonathan, oh Jonathan, wherefore art thou FBI?
He sighed and rolled his eyes at himself.
Before he even arrived at the front door, he had pulled his phone out and was scrolling through his contact list for Jon’s number. He waved to Wilkes as he left, the older man calling a goodbye in return.
“Brookfield,” Jon answered after one ring. It sounded like he was in the middle of a crowd, noise and voices permeating the background.
Keegan snorted. “Feeling pretty romanced right now.”
“Oh,” Jon answered, his voice changing from professional to sexy in the space of that one syllable. “Hi. Sorry, I was finishing my lunch. Thought I was being called back to the office early.”
“They do that a lot?”
Jon sighed. He sounded exhausted. “Now they do. I’m gonna blame you if I get stuck on this assignment permanently. Apparently, according to the guy I’m reporting to, I have a knack for it.”
“Ouch,” Keegan said, cringing. “Sorry. That sounds pretty, um—” He trailed off, unsure of how to finish the thought.
“And that’s exactly how it is too.” The voices in the background of Jon’s phone faded out until all Keegan could hear was the other man’s voice. “Since you’re not calling to tell me that you have the next batch of files for me to get to work on, what’s up?”
“I was thinking you might like to come by Wilde’s tonight,” Keegan said on a whim. He’d been planning on asking the man out, but he hadn’t realized he intended to ask for that very night. “We’ve got a great band playing, and I kind of owe you some Mexican spring rolls.”
“You make an excellent argument,” Jon agreed. “These spring rolls, are they fried?”
“Isn’t all the best food fried?” Keegan asked.
“Again, an excellent point. Well heck, with the offer of good music and fried food, how could I possibly say no?” Jon sounded like he was smiling, and it made a warm feeling spread through Keegan’s chest. “When should I be there?”
“Six okay?” Keegan asked, wishing it were closer to evening already.
“Six is perfect,” Jon agreed. There was a low noise on the line, and Jon let out a gusty sigh. “And there’s the call I was expecting. I have to get back and start the new files.”
Keegan grinned. “Will it make you feel better if I promise to make it worth your while?”
Jon groaned. “Right now? No. Right now, it’s going to make me think about what you could possibly mean by that, and spend the afternoon wishing it was quitting time already.”
“Good. That means I’ve got you right where I want you,” Keegan said, laughing.
“Not yet, you don’t,” Jon said. “You can have me anywhere you want tonight, though.”
“Sounds like my idea of a good night. I’ll see you at six.” As they disconnected, Keegan was still smiling. He hadn’t had so much fun with a prospective date in years. He refused to feel bad about it, no matter what his father thought.
#
Jon turned up promptly at six, and Brigit was beside herself with excitement when she brought him to Keegan’s table.
“Agent Hottie to se
e you, Key,” she said, holding her hands out as though presenting Jon as a gift. “I’ll just get you two a bottle of wine.”
Keegan forced himself not to sigh or roll his eyes at her antics, and thank goodness, Jon didn’t seem put off by them.
On the contrary, Jon slid into the round booth right next to Keegan and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Should I not tell her that I don’t like wine?”
“At all?” Keegan asked, surprised at the idea. “I figured you’d be just the type.”
Jon quirked an eyebrow. “Chicago WASP, must be a wine snob?”
Keegan shrugged sheepishly. “Shoe fits and all that. But I guess I shouldn’t make assumptions. You’ll ask me why I’m not an alcoholic with five kids and an unhealthy relationship with my father.”
“Shoe fits and all that,” Jon answered, but there was a good-natured smile on his face. “For the record, it doesn’t seem like you have a drinking problem, and I’d be shocked to learn that you had any kids.”
“I could be bi,” Keegan pointed out. “You don’t know.” He chose to ignore Jon’s refusal to comment on his relationship with his father. Hell, it probably was unhealthy.
“I’d ask if you are, but I think I’m still not allowed to ask questions,” Jon shot back.
Keegan chuckled and started to answer, but Brigit showed up with the promised bottle of wine, two glasses of water, and a plate of appetizers, all of which had come out suspiciously fast. “Fred’s on in a minute,” she said, waving to the stage, where Jenna and her twin brother Jake were already setting up. Brigit looked wistful. “Could be the last time.”
Keegan grabbed the bottle of wine and poured himself a generous glass, then a much smaller amount for Jon. Brigit raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
“Why would it be the last time?” Jon asked. “Is he leaving town?”
“Fred’s a band,” Keegan said, taking a sip of wine. “One that’s off to bigger and better things soon. I don’t think they’ll forget us, though.”
“They better not forget us when they’re rich and famous,” Brigit declared loudly, giving the twins a pointed look. “We know where they live.”
Jake looked up from his guitar, smiled, and rolled his eyes. “If you think you’re getting rid of us because we got a recording contract, you’re being too optimistic. One album isn’t gonna make us famous.”
Jenna glared at the back of his head, eyes narrowed and lower lip sticking out.
“Your face’ll freeze like that if you’re not careful, Jen,” he said without even glancing back at her, winking up at Keegan.
Jon slid closer and leaned in protectively. Keegan could feel their sides pressing together from knee to shoulder. He wasn’t used to being protected. He didn’t look like the kind of guy who needed safeguarding. There was no reason for Jon’s concern now, but it was an interesting feeling nonetheless. Maybe it was even charming.
Keegan looked over at him and lifted a brow, letting his lip quirk up in amusement. “Problem?”
“No,” Jon answered too fast. “No problem.”
“He knows this is a date,” Keegan told him, slowly sliding his left hand over to squeeze Jon’s thigh. “He’s also not interested in me.”
Jon took an unsteady breath when Keegan touched him, not making eye contact. He reached out to pick up his wine glass and took a sip, then made a face. Setting the glass down, he covered Keegan’s hand with his own.
Keegan leaned in even further, practically putting his head on Jon’s shoulder. “You worry too much. Jake’s a nice guy, but if I wanted to date him, I’d have already done it. Fred’s been playing here for almost six months.”
“Then why haven’t you?” Jon asked. “He’s good looking. You’re ridiculously good looking.”
Keegan didn’t know whether to be astonished or amused. Jake McKenna was one of the most attractive men he’d ever known, and the bad-boy guitarist thing could only add to it. He squeezed Jon’s thigh. “Did you just imply that I’m better looking than him?”
“I think I stated it outright, actually. You are.” Jon leaned forward and pressed his lips to Keegan’s.
When Jon pulled away, Keegan was breathless. He was no blushing virgin, and he hadn’t been so affected by a kiss since he had been. It was something about the forbidden nature of dating a man his father didn’t approve of, he supposed.
It helped that he thought Jon was beautiful. He looked like someone who should be in modeling; even at six in the evening his chestnut hair was perfectly coiffed and his jaw baby smooth. Keegan wondered if he’d shaved again before coming over, or if he was just lucky enough not to be cursed with Keegan’s perpetual stubble.
It was tempting to lean back in. Just to get a closer look, he reasoned.
“Hey you guys,” Jenna called from the stage. “None of that till after the show. Also, hopefully in private. At least take him back to your office.”
Without looking, Keegan flipped her off. He gave Jon a shrug. “Guess I should let you watch the show, at least. Someday you can say you saw Fred before they were famous.”
Jon pulled away, giving them both a few extra inches of breathing room. He didn’t let go of Keegan’s hand on his thigh, though. “You have a lot of faith in them,” he said, eyes still on Keegan’s lips.
Keegan got his breathing under control and gave Jon’s thigh another squeeze. The muscle was surprisingly firm, not giving much beneath his hand. “I’m a trusting kind of guy.”
To his credit, Jon didn’t laugh at that. He didn’t even seem amused. He leaned in and pressed another kiss to Keegan’s lips instead.
When they broke apart, Keegan smiled at him. “You’re gonna make me take back my offer of music and food, you keep going like that.”
Jon brushed his lips against Keegan’s ear. “Tempting to try to make you. It’s going to be impossible, sitting here next to you and trying to focus on anything else.”
“Flatterer,” Keegan said, pushing Jon’s shoulder with his own. “But I’ll take it.”
CHAPTER SIX
Jon Breaks the Rules
Jon was surprised Keegan needed to ask about being more attractive than the guitarist guy. Maybe it was just Jon’s disinterest in the sullen-musician stereotype, but he didn’t think the other man held a candle to Keegan’s dark curls and unexpectedly shy smile.
Even objectively, he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a more beautiful man than Keegan Quinn. Maybe that was the problem, though. Keegan was as beautiful as he was handsome, with full lips and long eyelashes that some people might see as feminine.
Given the hard muscles of the arm pressed against him, and the impressive strength in the palm gripping Jon’s thigh, he didn’t have a single doubt about Keegan’s masculinity. Not that he wouldn’t like to get even more closely acquainted with that masculinity. Just to be sure, of course.
“So you don’t drink,” Keegan said thoughtfully. “And you told your boss you wanted to date me before you even told me.” He gave Jon a thoughtful once-over. “Do you ever break the rules, Agent Brookfield?”
Jon blushed and looked at the table. When Keegan said it like that, he sounded like a bratty high-school hall monitor who got off on turning in other kids for being late to class. He really didn’t want Keegan to think that of him. Not even if it was kind of true.
“I ate raw cookie dough on Monday,” he blurted out, then cringed at his own painful awkwardness.
Keegan laughed. It wasn’t an amused chuckle or a polite laugh. It was a full-blown belly laugh with his head thrown back, loud enough that people from nearby tables turned their way.
“That’s ridiculous, isn’t it?” Jon asked, sighing.
Keegan set an elbow on the table and leaned on it, turning to look up at Jon with guileless blue eyes. “It’s one of the best things I’ve heard in my life. Was it good?”
Like the time in college when he’d accidentally gotten high because his roommate was smoking pot, Jon didn’t want to admit the truth. Would admitting that
he enjoyed a little mischief change him? And besides, he’d missed out on years of raw cookie dough because he was a nearly compulsive rule follower.
He sighed and nodded, hanging his head. He couldn’t look Keegan in the eye.
Keegan’s body shook against his with suppressed laughter.
“Glad I can amuse you,” he said in an unconvincingly annoyed tone. Seeing Keegan laugh was one of the high points of his day, truth be told, so even if the reason was a little embarrassing, he was kind of okay with it.
As promised, one of the appetizer offerings was some kind of spicy chicken spring rolls. It was a strange combination of elements, but everything about the situation was strange, so it fit.
“It’s good to own a restaurant, I guess,” Jon said, motioning to the plate. “Get to eat whatever you want all the time.”
Keegan snorted. “You’d be surprised how little say I have in it. But that’s for the best. I’d just have, like, three dishes on the menu, and they’d never change. Chef Drew likes to switch it up, and he knows what he’s doing.”
It was amazing to Jon how much trust Keegan gave other people. Given the kind of people he’d grown up around, and his history, Jon would’ve expected him to be much more mistrustful.
Holding up a spring roll, Keegan looked at it thoughtfully for a long moment. “I thought Drew was nuts when he wanted to add this to the menu. It doesn’t fit together, you know? Asian dish, Mexican ingredients?” He motioned to the dipping sauce, something creamy that smelled of lime and cilantro. “It doesn’t make any sense to me. But then there it is, and it’s good.”
Jon grabbed a spring roll for himself and, after coating it in sauce, tried a bite. It was a surprisingly perfect combination of opposing tastes and textures. He looked back at Keegan. They weren’t just talking about the food anymore, but Jon didn’t want to force Keegan to be more open if he didn’t feel able to do that. Instead, he said, “I guess he’s got a better understanding of what goes together than we do.”
