Page 57 of The Long Game

He shrugged. “Guilty.”

Colton made a noise of utter disgust, then ducked under Grady’s arm into the apartment. Jack followed him inside, his hand on Grady’s waist. Goosebumps prickled along Grady’s skin from that point all the way up to his neck.

When Jack smiled at him, he could see the navy striations in Jack’s eyes.

Jack’s thumb brushed over his ribs. “You’ve got this.”

Grady nodded, resisted the urge to drag Jack into a hug and cling to him until he felt more sure-footed, and closed the door.

Colton stood with his hands on his hips, looking around.

The apartment took up the entire second floor of a large converted Victorian home. He’d chosen it because, rather than squeezing in a second bedroom, the owner had created a big open kitchen and living room space that, even at this hour, was bright from the oversized windows along the front of the house.

Colton was not impressed. “Wow. Nice bachelor pad.”

Jack burst into laughter.

Traitor.

Colton eyed the admittedly oversized flat-screen TV and the rack of free weights on the floor beneath it with the gaming console precariously perched on top. “I feel like I should have to scratch my balls just to be in this room.”

“Hey, now,” Grady said.

“Is there a girly calendar in the closet? No! In the bathroom, so you can jerk off to it. College women draped over Lamborghinis?”

Grady arched his eyebrow. “I assure you, there are no girly calendars anywhere in this apartment.” He made a mental note to hide theperfectly respectablecoffee table book of gorgeous, mostly clothed,malemodels that may or may not have been somewhere in his bedroom.

Jack snorted and gave him a knowing look.

Colton sucked in a long, deep breath. “I smell feet.”

“You do not,” Grady said.

“The only thing missing is the scent of Axe Body Spray.”

Jack turned his back, his shoulders shaking as he unpacked breakfast onto the counter.

“All right, all right,” Grady said, raising his hands in surrender and wondering, for the first time in the eight years he'd lived here, if he was supposed to smell his rug regularly. Did people do that? “I’m looking for something that will fit us both better and then you can unleash your inner Martha Stewart or whatever.”

Colton glanced at him sharply.

“That is,” Grady rushed to add, “if you decide to live here. In Moncton. With me. Whenever that may be.”

Another snort escaped Jack.

“Shut up,” Grady muttered.

Jack patted Grady’s shoulder. “Very smooth.”

Grady might have taken exception, but then Colton said, “You tell him, Daddy,” and it was Grady’s turn to laugh.

Jack glared at Colton.

“Anyway,” Grady said before things devolved any further, “I thought we could sit and eat and talk a little, then, if you’re good with hanging out, we could watch the Jays game this afternoon.”

“Yes,” Colton said with a fist bump for Grady. “Love the Jays.”

Jack threw up his hands. “AnotherToronto fan?”

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