Page 19 of Loving You

“You’re never a burden. It’s just a ride home. Besides, Bronx is a good guy and definitely not a serial killer,” Dallas said, his voice tight with barely controlled anxiety.

Bronx turned and gave Dallas a shove toward his boyfriend. “Go.” The two of them finally obeyed, and Bronx sank back down into his chair, staring at the weirdly unbalanced table. Should he move? Would that be weird? Would Monty think Bronx didn’t want to be next to him?

“You don’t have to take me anywhere, you know,” Monty said carefully. He twisted his glass in his hands. “I know it’s just a ride home, but I’m very used to hiring a car.”

“What?” Bronx realized he must look on edge, and he tried to relax his body. “No, that’s…no. I’m sorry. I haven’t socialized in so long. I’m like one of those friendly feral dogs, you know? Like, I want to make friends, but I don’t know how to do it without jumping on people and drooling everywhere.”

Monty burst into laughter. “I might protest at being drooled on. That’s not my thing.”

Bronx slapped a hand over his face. “I’m a vet, so animal metaphors are kind of my thing.”

Brows flying up, Monty leaned toward him. “You work with animals?”

“Yeah. I had a practice in Pigeon Forge, and I’m currently trying to set one up here.”

Monty licked his lips. “Pigeon Forge…”

“Home of Dolly Parton,” Bronx said, letting his accent thicken a little for effect. It made Monty smile, which made his stomach swoop. “And the Smoky Mountains, of course.”

“And your crappy ex?”

Bronx snorted and shook his head. “Oh God, no. He ran outta there like his ass was on fire. I’m trying not to pay too close attention to where he’s at now.”

Monty grimaced. “I’m sorry. I know how rough it can get.”

“Divorced?”

“Divorce lawyer,” Monty corrected, then shook his head. “That’s not entirely right. I’m a family attorney, but divorce tends to come with that. It’s never happy circumstances.”

Bronx was about to reply when the server appeared, and he had all but forgotten they were there to eat and drink. He flushed and grabbed one of the menus. “Can I just get whatever good lager you have on tap? I’m gonna need a minute with the menu.”

The server offered a refill for Monty—he was drinking sparkling water with lime—and then walked away.

“Is it okay that I’m having a beer?”

Monty frowned at him, looking entirely confused. “Of course it is. I’ve been in the US for a long time, but maybe I missed some faux pas about that?”

“No, just,” Bronx floundered. He rubbed his hand down his face and groaned. “Drooling again. Uh, I meant if you’re not comfortable drinking, I don’t mind skipping the beer.”

Monty chuckled and reached across the space between them, setting his warm, soft hand over Bronx’s. Fuck, how long had it been since he’d been touched so gently by someone who wasn’t related to him? He wanted to turn his hand and link their fingers together, but that would have definitely been weird.

Hehadbeen joking about the jumping and the drooling. Mostly.

“I don’t drink because I take some medications that don’t do well with alcohol. I certainly don’t mind if you have a beer.”

Bronx blew out a puff of air, trying not to focus solely on how Monty’s hand felt against his own. “I haven’t, ah…I haven’t been out in a long while. Since well before the divorce. I was either working or doing after-school stuff with my son, and?—”

“Lucas,” Monty said. When Bronx’s eyebrows flew up, Monty pulled his hand back. “Dallas talks about him a lot. His favorite nephew.”

Bronx scoffed. “His only nephew, but yeah, Luke would probably be his favorite.” He was glad Dallas had mentioned Lucas, only because people usually got weird when they learned his kid couldn’t see.

The server appeared a second later to drop off drinks, and Monty began to order, so Bronx pointed at the first thing that caught his eye. Pasta with a cream sauce.Great. He was going to be loaded down with carbs and cheese. His lactose intolerance was not going to thank him in a few hours.

“So,” Monty said a beat after the server left, “Kylen says he wants to teach Lucas to fly my plane.”

Bronx had the misfortune of taking a sip just as Monty said that, and he nearly met his end on cheap, local lager. He managed to get most of it down, though a bit of it dribbled down his chin and darkened his shirt.

“I’m sorry?” he said when he could breathe again. “He wants to teach my son to fly yourplane? I’m going to assume you’re not talking about some drone thing.”

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