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  “Oh, well, c’mon, then.” Making a looping-arm motion, Guy took a couple of steps backward, watching them expectantly.

  Seth didn’t do more than shift his weight, and Lucas’s butt stayed firmly on the barstool. “Are you sure they want to be bothered?” For the first time, Seth looked around, trying to find the “theater crowd.” The only crowd he could see was from the TV show—he recognized them from serving them, and could match most of the faces with their usual orders. Then Derrick Richards moved out of the way, revealing the guy sitting next to Levi Pritchard and—

  “Whoa.” How the hell did I miss him? He was one of the most gut-wrenchingly attractive men Seth had ever seen in his life, hitting everything on Seth’s checklist for hot: black hair, square jaw, perfect yet pronounced nose. Not that it mattered, because it was really about how the elements were put together, and this man’s face was the perfect balance of strength and shadows.

  “Whoa, what?” Lucas’s voice rang with all the interest he hadn’t shown for the last half hour.

  “Just . . .” Seth shook his head, turning back. If Lucas saw the dude, it could lead to more speculation on Seth’s love life, when all Seth wanted to speculate on was his immediate sexual future. “Dizzy spell.” He winced internally. Bad save.

  “That guy?” Lucas jerked his chin toward Levi’s table. “With the curly hair and a touch of silver in his whiskers?” Just his luck that this was the one time Lucas would be paying actual attention. “We definitely go for the same type.”

  Well, duh. Gabe kind of proved that. He managed to not confirm or deny anything until Guy started asking, “Which one? Are you checking someone out? I could introduce you.” He was nearly panting with eagerness, like a dog with his tongue lolling out, dying to sniff someone’s butt.

  “What are the chances he’s even gay?” Seth answered without really answering.

  “It’s the theater crowd—I’d guess they’re better than average.” Lucas scooted to the edge of his stool and craned his neck. “That dude?” He helpfully pointed the gorgeous one out to Guy. “Sitting with Levi?”

  Squinting, Guy nodded. “Nate. Just met him tonight, but he’s single—I heard him say something earlier. His last relationship was with a ‘he,’ so that would make him gay, right?”

  “Or bi.”

  “Or open-minded,” Lucas offered, nudging him.

  “This is ridiculous,” Seth muttered. But if Guy was so desperate to make himself useful . . . He sighed and set his empty glass on the bar. “Lead on.” He pointed at Lucas. “You stay here.”

  To Seth’s surprise, Lucas did, but the set of his mouth was very smug. He’d be able to watch Seth get shot down just fine from this vantage point. Excellent.

  When approaching a man, Seth’s usual method was to assume success until he’d been given reason to think otherwise, but tonight his characteristic confidence failed him as he followed Guy across Ma Cougar’s. He knew he was attractive enough to score more often than not, but he wasn’t in this Nate person’s league. Nate could have just stepped out of the pages of GQ—the Italian edition, judging by his swarthiness.

  Another thing, did Seth really trust Guy to know if Nate was actually some shade of gay? And what did it say about him that he was being introduced by the town’s nerdiest actuary?

  Don’t be an asshole. And you’ve been with guys who were way out of your league before. He’d long ago found that attitude and persistence counted for much more than general attractiveness or social status. It was the only thing that had gotten him through high school.

  In the nick of time—Guy was already lifting his hand in an attention-getting wave—Seth’s normal demeanor reasserted itself, dispelling (or maybe quashing) his uncharacteristic nervousness.

  “Hey, Nate,” Guy began. “Got someone here who you should meet.”

  Not that he didn’t have some residual nerves as he stepped out from behind Guy and got his first up-close look at this evening’s potential “date.” Nate was more drool-inducing here than he’d been across the room. Not model-perfect, as Seth had thought, but better because he looked like a real person, not an airbrushed icon. A guy with acres of sun-darkened skin that Seth would love to inspect for tiny freckles.

  “This is Seth,” Guy was saying as Nate pushed back in his chair, turning just enough to face their direction.

  Nate stood up, turning a pair of beautiful gray eyes on Seth. He stepped away from the table and held out his hand. “Hi. Nate Albano.”

  Seth was sure his smile was lighting up the bar, he put so much enthusiasm into it. “Hello there.”

  Nate had sculpted hands, warm and rough to the touch, that gave the overall impression of being square. Square fingers and knuckles just knotty enough. Even his grip was secure and well-built, if that made any sense. “Seth Larson.” He didn’t need to repeat his name, but it gave him another second to feel Nate’s hand wrapped around his.

  Nate didn’t let go after that. He held on, lips parting as he stared. “Larson? You’re not related to Finn Larson, are you?”

  That bastard. “Oh, no.” Seth waved him off with the back of his free hand and then extended his pinky in the most posh manner, knowing he was overdoing it but unable to stop himself from hamming it up for this guy. “I’m from the Bluewater Bay Larsons, don’t you know. We practically built this town.”

  The sarcasm was clearly lost on Nate, because his very attractive brow wrinkled up while Guy chortled. “But they did, didn’t they? It was Fennimore Larson who established the old town around the mill. I mean, this bar—it’s standing on the original mill site, right?” Slowly, as if he, too, were reluctant to lose physical contact, Nate loosened his grip and let his hand slip away. Was it Seth’s imagination that he took a few too many moments to let go? His palm had pressed against Seth’s in an explicitly intimate way, hadn’t it?

  Seth chose to believe that was all intentional. But then Nate’s questions sunk in.

  Shit. “Why the hell would you know that?” That didn’t sound as rude aloud as it had in his head, did it? “I mean, it’s kind of obscure.” Although his uncle Kirk would be thrilled to know his efforts to make the local historical society a major attraction were apparently working on this one person. Of course, that depended on how much and what exactly Nate knew about Fennimore Larson.

  Nate broke into a small, somewhat sheepish smile, flashing his straight, white teeth. Everything about this guy was stellar, wasn’t it? “I’m . . . ah . . . kind of a history and genealogy buff.”

  That abashed little grin was darling. With that and the genealogy line, he’d have all the self-centered boys eating out of his hand. Of course, where Nate was concerned, nearly anything would work.

  “It just so happens I’m well-versed on the founding of the town.” Or certain parts of it anyway.

  “Wait—Seth Larson? Holy shit, I’ve got you on the Larson family tree. Fennimore was your great-great-grandfather, right? It’s so great to meet you. I’ve checked out the land grants at the state level, but I’ve been dying to talk with someone in the family about the founding of the town.”

  He’s got me on a family tree? Seth wasn’t sure if that was really flattering or really creepy. “I’ve never met a nonlocal who’s interested in hearing about it, actually.” Seth knew enough about it to keep them here a few hours.

  But land grant and deed records were one of the exact things his family most wanted people to forget—how to suppress them was the main topic of conversation during family holiday mealtimes. Besides, he didn’t want to bore the dude, he wanted to keep him talking about himself, or at least his interests. “What led you to digging up my ancestor?” So to speak.

  “Whenever I move to a new place, I always research the town. It’s a hobby—although Morgan—” he pointed to a tall black woman who was smiling at Derrick “—calls it an obsession, especially when I get involved in chasing down something interesting and forget I’m supposed to meet her for dinner.” He grinned sheepishly. “Fennim
ore cuts a pretty wide swath in Bluewater Bay history. He’s pretty major.”

  Seth laughed shortly, unable to help himself. “Well, my father and uncle would like to think so.” He stepped a little closer, near enough for the conversation to seem private. “My family has some excess pride in their ancestry. If you’re really into it, I’d be happy to tell you all about my history.” Seth just stopped himself from winking. Nate brought out the cheese in him, clearly. He’d have to watch it, because he didn’t want to overplay this.

  “That’d be great.” Nate glanced back at the three-top. Levi and Jack had vacated at the same time as Nate, but it had already been claimed by someone else. He shrugged. “I guess we stand, if that’s okay.”

  Perfect for my purposes. Seth took a small, unobtrusive breath through his nose in an attempt to clear his head. Make sure what he was about to say wasn’t too much too soon.

  Nope, sounds fine to me, his libido offered. “Maybe we should go someplace a little”—more intimate—“less busy to talk. I mean, if you want to know all about the Larsons.”

  Bad call! his higher brain was screaming in alarm before Seth even finished. What about the woman Nate “forgets” to meet for dinner? The one he was exchanging speaking glances with right this minute in the kind of communication that only long-established friends would use.

  Or a couple. Could he be bi?

  It doesn’t matter what his preferences are if he’s with someone else.

  Fucking Guy. Why had he believed what a straight man said about another man’s sexual preferences? Stupid mistake. Seth’s chest began to tighten up—with his luck, he’d not only made a very obvious overture to a straight guy but he’d done it very publicly.

  Run away! Run away! He swallowed, straightened his shoulders, and prepared to salvage some pride, damn it, by not waiting to be shot down in front of an audience that included half the town and his coworkers. His extensive experience with public humiliation had taught him that a dignified exit was the best way to escape complete disgrace.

  Before he could babble out anything about needing to go find his friend, Nate glowered in the direction of the front door. “I’d be happy to get out of here. Stomping Grounds okay with you?”

  Wait, what? Seth’s libido had already switched gears and said, “Great, let me get my jacket,” turned him around, and marched him off toward Lucas before the rest of him caught up to the unexpected situation change. Thank God for his libido’s quick thinking, though, because he wasn’t halfway to the bar before he realized he’d nearly fucked up the best thing that had happened to him in months. Well, from a sex point of view.

  “I’m outta here,” he said as soon as he was close enough to speak to Lucas without shouting. Knuckling the guy’s back, he nudged him to move so he could get his jacket off the back of the barstool.

  “Nice work.” Lucas smiled smugly, then glanced down at his phone, where he’d clearly been texting someone. Probably his boyfriend. “I’m outta here in a second too, as soon as Gabe shows up.”

  So definitely texting Gabe.

  It wasn’t a sure thing, by any means, but Seth threw caution to the wind, potentially jinxing his evening. Grinning at Lucas as he took a couple steps backward, about to turn, he saluted the guy. “Looks like we’re both gonna get some tonight.”

  With Seth off grabbing his coat, Nate edged toward a gaggle of Wolf’s Landing grips, pretending to be part of their conversation. It never paid to be obviously unoccupied when Finn was on the prowl, and the last thing Nate wanted right now was to get sucked into one of Finn’s never-ending budget rants—not tonight, when he had something so much better to look forward to.

  Seth had been . . . unexpected. The look on his face when Nate had been telling him about his embarrassingly unhip hobby—blue eyes wide, blond eyebrows lifted, smile just curving his lips. Hell, even his trendy haircut looked interested in Nate’s story. Curiosity. Most guys Seth’s age—he had to be at least ten years younger than Nate’s thirty-seven—based their image on knowing everything already. Blasé post-college pseudo-expertise on everything from movies to technology to sports. If they ran into something they didn’t know about, they either pretended knowledge, dismissed it as stupid, or changed the subject.

  Nate peered through the crowd to track Seth’s progress—he had stopped and was exchanging a few words with a dark-haired guy sitting at the bar. Both of them looked over at Nate, and Seth flashed that killer smile.

  Then Nate’s view was blocked by six feet of zaftig badass. Morgan—his coworker and best friend—tucked a stray dark curl under her African-print headband as she glanced over her shoulder in Seth’s direction. “Careful, Nate. Your rep as an ice-cold mofo is skating on the edge with the way you’re checking that boy out.”

  “I’m not ‘checking him out.’” Nate widened his stance and crossed his arms. “For your information, we were chatting about town history—he’s descended from the founder—and he was totally into it. Now that the Prince of Darkness has joined this party, we’re heading over to Stomping Grounds to grab a cup of coffee. To talk. I know you find it hard to believe, but other people think history and genealogy are cool too.”

  “Other old, boring people.” She took a sip of her beer and watched Seth disappear through the door behind the bar. “Trust me, that boy is not thinking about ancestors and descendants—unless it’s how to get your pants to descend to the floor.”

  Nate scowled. “Cut it out. You know I’m not into that.”

  “At the moment, sure. But you have been—more than once—and maybe you will be again. Besides, just because you’re not into it, doesn’t mean he’s not.”

  “Morgan—”

  “Just sayin’. You haven’t exactly circulated the Nate-is-grace memo.”

  “It’s nobody’s business but mine.”

  “I know. Sorry, baby. Have a good time talking about ancestors.”

  She planted a kiss on his cheek before wandering over to talk to a cluster of stunt performers. They greeted her with grins and hugs—but so did everyone. Morgan might be fierce, no-nonsense, and straight-talking, but as long as you weren’t an asshole, she was totally approachable and gave the best hugs on the planet. Nate had reason to know—Morgan’s hugs were all that kept him sane some days, when his need for a little human touch outweighed his sense of self-preservation.

  Seth reappeared next to Nate with a tan canvas jacket slung over one shoulder. He squinted at Morgan’s back for a minute before he turned to Nate. “You . . . uh . . . still want to take off?”

  Since Finn was still at large somewhere in the pub, that was an easy answer. “Hell yeah.” He grabbed his own coat, scanning the crowd for Levi.

  Shit! Finn was threading his way through the crowd, angling to get past Mount Derrick, Ginsberg’s giant boyfriend. Levi would just have to forgive him for not saying good-bye. He took Seth’s elbow to steer him away from the danger zone, but released him once they’d gotten safely out the door.

  “Sorry for the, you know, manhandling. But, God, I hate that guy.”

  “Finn? Yeah, you and everyone else in town, whether they work on the show or not. I mean, all the waitresses hate him. They have regular support groups—I think it involves a drinking game. One shot for every time Finn called one of them ‘honey,’ ‘sweetheart,’ or ‘darling’—in the last three days. Extra points if he hollered for coffee as soon as he walked in the door.”

  “Sounds like Finn.” Nate stuffed his hands in his pockets as they walked down the street. The breeze held the scent of the ocean and a hint of coming rain. Yeah, summer was definitely over.

  “Does your girlfriend,” Seth jerked his thumb back toward Ma Cougar’s, “feel the same way?”

  “Girlfriend? Who—” Nate barked a laugh. “You mean Morgan? God, she’d bust a gut if she heard you say that.”

  “Really? You seemed . . . friendly.” Seth’s tone was a little on the chilly side.

  “We are. She’s probably my best friend in town.”
Not that he had many. “She’s on the effects crew with me. She does handhelds—you know, knives, guns, china that can shatter without slicing the cast to ribbons—while I do the bigger set pieces, like windows and furniture.”

  “So you’re into big things? Intriguing.”

  Nate chuckled. “What can I say? If Hunter Easton didn’t have poor Gabriel getting the shit beat out of him every third scene, my job would be a lot more boring. Not that it’s all that thrilling for someone who isn’t into SFX. No one wants to hear about how tricky it is to build something that looks real enough to be a threat but won’t maim the actors and stunt performers. Do you know how many stuntmen were killed in the early days of silent films? There were no safety protocols, no—” He ran a hand through his hair. “Ah, shit. Sorry. I get a little carried away when I talk about history.”

  “Hey, no complaints here. I could listen to you all night long.”

  “Not all night, maybe, but long enough, right?” They walked past Stomping Grounds’ plate-glass window, and Nate opened the door to let Seth enter. Warm air, heavy with the aroma of coffee and cinnamon, surrounded them. “Whew. Now suddenly I’m hot.”

  “I’ll say,” Seth murmured.

  Nate stripped off his jacket and slung it over his arm. “What’ll it be? It’s a little late for coffee, eh? Maybe something else warm?”

  “Definitely.”

  “What do you like?”

  “Mmm. I prefer mine tall, dark, and sweet, with a hint of spice.”

  Nate grinned. “I know just the thing. Grab a table and I’ll come as soon as I collect our supplies.”

  Seth opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, but then he shook his head and headed for a table in the far corner.

  Nate walked up to the counter. “Hey, Buck. How you doing? Can you give me two tall spice tea lattes?”

  The big barista grinned. “You got it, Nate. Want a couple of pastries too? We need to move them before closing.”