Page 8 of Follows with Intent

By the time he got his pumpkin medley latte, it was almost eight-thirty. Nico hurried toward the exit. The security guard, Heeley, caught his eye. That was all, a look, but it was the kind you felt in your belly, and Nico had a hard time dragging his gaze away.

Which was why he didn’t see the man barreling through the doors until it was too late.

They crashed into each other. The paper coffee cup collapsed in Nico’s grip. Pumpkin medley latte (kid temp) fountained out. And then Nico’s head cracked against the other man’s, and they both went down.

He was still sorting himself when a familiar voice said, “Oh my God, I’m so sorry—Nico?”

Nico stared at the vaulted ceiling above him. Because maybe some sexual ley line had gotten crossed. Maybe a horny ghost was determined to mess up his life. Because this was, apparently, the theology seminar of potential hook-ups.

Including Detective Jadon Reck.

Jadon squatted next to Nico, peering down at him. As usual, he looked…well, perfect. Even in autumn, his coloring made Nico think of the beach: darkly sandy hair, darker eyebrows, even darker eyes. His white dress shirt, dripping with coffee, clung to his sculpted chest. It was, admittedly, a look. It didn’t seem fair that a detective should be handsome to the point of having perfect nipples.

“Are you okay?” Jadon reached down, hesitated, and then touched Nico’s head. Nico flinched. “You’ve got a goose egg,” Jadon told him with a small smile. He rubbed above his hairline. “I think I’ve got one to match.”

With Jadon’s help, Nico got to his feet. He did a quick check and was amazed to find that, aside from a few drops of coffee spattered on his button-up, he was unscathed—it would be easy enough to button the cardigan and hide the stains. Jadon, on the other hand, had taken the brunt of the coffee. Following Nico’s gaze, he plucked at the shirt and said, “It’s totally fine.”

“Jadon, oh my God.”

“It’s fine, I promise.”

“I ruined your shirt.”

“I didn’t even like this shirt. I hated the tag. You did me a favor.”

“You can cut out a tag, Jay. You’ll never get the coffee out of this.”

“Sir.” Heeley stepped into Nico’s peripheral vision. He didn’t look happy. “Are you all right? Should I call an ambulance?”

Jadon gave him a quick look and said, “We’re good here.”

Heeley didn’t like that; Nico could see it in his face. “Maybe you should sit down, sir.”

“I’m okay.” Nico even managed a smile. “Thanks.”

“I think—”

“Why don’t you radio for a cleanup?” Jadon said, nodding at the coffee. “You don’t want somebody to slip.”

Heeley’s jaw tightened at that, but after another long look at Nico, he stepped back and reached for his radio. Jadon guided Nico away from the spill. The feel of his hand on Nico’s arm—warm, solid, strong—shook Nico out of his daze.

This was Jadon.

Jadon was here.

And then it all came rushing back: that first, chance meeting at North and Shaw’s house; the first, awkward conversation; the way Jadon had looked in shorts and a tee—the lines of his arms, the muscled thighs, the way he spread his legs, his large, powerful body sprawled and at ease. And then months of texting, the short, flirty messages building into something more, the things Nico never said to anyone, the things, he thought, Jadon might not say to anyone else.

And then it had stopped.

No explanation. No answer. Nico’s final text left hanging there.

And Nico refused to make a fool out of himself.

He pulled his arm away from Jadon.

Jadon let his hand drop as though it had been his idea; he might not have even noticed because all his attention seemed to be on Nico as he asked, “What are you doing here?” And then, his voice dropping, “Are you in disguise?”

“Am I in disguise?”

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