Page 1 of The Long Game

PROLOGUE

FOUR YEARS AGO

Grady McDonnough saddled up to the bar at the Brunswicker Ale House, his cheeks burning and a wide smile plastered on his face. He hoped like hell he didn’t look as dumb or nervous as he felt. He ignored the snickers from the table at his back—not that anyone in the bar would miss the way his idiot coworkers were elbowing each other and grinning.

On the bright side, Grady was out and proud, damn comfortable in his own skin, and his workplace was supportive. On the less bright side, six grown-ass men werewaytoo invested in whether or not Grady had the guts to flirt with the ridiculously handsome bartender.

Of course, they were doomed to disappointment and it had nothing to do with guts. The guy was working and Grady wasn’t a letch. Instead, he leaned against the bar, grateful it was a busy night so his face had time to cool, and observed the people around him.

Well, okay, he mostly observed one particular person around him, but he was only human, damn it.

The bartender smiled at another customer, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and Grady wondered if it was a sign he wasgetting old that he was seriously into those crow’s feet. The man was tall, over six feet, with a strong neck curving into broad shoulders, and a hint of extra muscle testing the thin cotton at the sleeves and seams of his t-shirt. Almost-black hair contrasted attractively with his fair skin, and the pink on his smooth cheeks looked soft and warm. How the woman on the receiving end of that smile didn’t melt into a puddle on the floor was a mystery. Hell, it made Grady’s knees weak from twenty paces.

Then the bartender winked, flipped the towel over his shoulder, and turned to face Grady.

Blue.

For a moment, all Grady could think wasblue. All he couldseewas the deep clear color of the bartender’s eyes as he ran his gaze over the crowd. He nodded briefly at one or two people and gave another a smile. He seemed to know everyone, which made sense—Grady was seriously considering becoming a regular, too.

His breath stuttered when those cobalt blue eyes met his, the lashes thick and black. “What can I get you?”

Grady swallowed. “I’m Grady.”

Those blue eyes lit up and he smiled. “Hi, Grady, I’m Jack. Do you need a drink?” He kindly ignored the loud guffaws and semi-hysterical snorts coming from behind Grady.

“Please. I need to get a round for my table.” When Grady didn’t continue, Jack held his smile and waited.

It took far longer than it should have for Grady to remember he needed to tell the poor man hisorder. Miraculously, he managed to list the drinks and go a whole minute without making an ass of himself, mostly because Jack stopped looking at Grady in favor of reaching into coolers and lining the requested bottles up on the bar.

Then Jack turned to make Clint’s cocktail and Grady saw god.

Jesus Christ, Grady wanted to worship that ass fordays.

He tore his eyes away before he could get caught staring and told himself he would not, under any circumstances, adjust himself. Not only was he not a fucking fourteen-year-old with no self-control, but he wouldn’t live it down at the office for the next half ofever.

Grady’s determination was tested, sorely, when Jack placed the last drink on the bar and smiled at him again. That shit should come with a warning label.

“You need anything else?” Jack’s voice was low and smooth.

Grady blinked at him stupidly, temporarily rendered speechless while a host of answers sprang to mind. Fortunately, Grady wasn’t a creep—despite what may or may not have been happening in his pants at that moment—and kept his thoughts to himself.

“No, I’m good,” he finally managed, his voice hoarse. He held out his credit card and prayed he made it through the next thirty seconds without embarrassing himself.

Again.

Jack’s smile grew—slow and utterly devastating—and with a wink, he plucked the card from Grady’s nerveless fingers.

Three Months Later

Jack glancedup from the glass he was drying, his work smile becoming a full-on grin when Grady came through the door. He was easy to spot since, at almost six and a half feet, he was taller than anyone else in the place. The wide shoulders didn’t hurt either when it came to standing out in a crowd, buthe effortlessly slipped through the groups of people with his easygoing grace and polite smile.

Grady had been stopping by for dinner or a drink a few times a week since the night he’d introduced himself. The friends hadn’t yet made a reappearance, which was too bad since Jack had liked the way they’d made Grady blush. He’d looked young and cute—an observation Jack would definitely be keeping to himself.

At the time, Jack had been certain Grady would flirt with him, but he’d been adorably awkward instead. Jack was known to be a flirt himself—thanks to the impact it had on his tips—and it was a game he didn’t mind playing as long as the customer understood where the line was drawn. He liked, though, that Grady hadn’t gone there. That Grady’s bumbling had seemed far more earnest.

Not that Jack was going to hook up with the guy either way. He wasn’t suited for a relationship and Grady hadcommitmentwritten all over him. Jack didn’t usually encourage friendships across the bar, either, but Grady had become an exception. Jack was even willing to overlook Grady’s terrible taste in sports teams and had changed the TV above the bar to the Leafs game just in case Grady showed up, leaving Jack free to pretend it was someone else’s doing.

Jack wiped down the bar at Grady’s usual spot near the cash register while Grady pulled off his hat, leaving his shock of brown hair pointing every which way. Jack tried not to chuckle. Chances were good Grady wouldn’t think to smooth it down, and Jack would spend most of the night resisting the urge to do it for him. Which was kind of weird, but the guy’s hair was ridiculous.

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