by Sam Burns
“He’d have to,” Keegan said with a sigh, his gaze going distant and sad. “I don’t think anyone could have a worse sense of it than me.”
Plucking the spring roll out of Keegan’s hand and dipping it in sauce, he held it up to those beautiful full lips. Keegan gave him an incredulous look, but he took the bite. His lips wrapped around Jon’s fingers, almost distracting him from the point he was trying to make. He cleared his throat. “Sometimes,” Jon said, “you just have to take a bite and find out.”
Keegan quirked an eyebrow as he chewed. “Is that right, Mr. Just-tried-raw-cookie-dough-for-the-first-time?”
Jon shrugged. “Like my dad said, sometimes you’ve got to risk the salmonella and eat the cookie dough. It’s worth it.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.” Jon was surprised at how quickly he answered, but even with reflection, it was true. All the uncertainty and lame data analysis the department could shove at him couldn’t make him regret his decision.
“You must have really liked that cookie dough,” Keegan said with an awkward chuckle.
That chuckle might not have been intentional, but it was an expression of discomfort with the conversation, so Jon decided it was time to let it go. For the time being, at least. “The cookie dough was amazing,” he agreed.
He picked up his water glass, clinked the top lightly against Keegan’s, and took a drink.
Keegan swallowed a bite and grinned at Jon. He reached for the water glass that Jon had just clinked and held it aloft. “Sláinte?”
“When you say it like that, how can I resist?” Jon answered, holding his glass up again. “To your health as well.”
Keegan looked surprised, and opened his mouth to respond, but the overhead sound turned on with a little crackle.
“Hey everybody,” the singer said over the sound system. “Welcome to Wilde’s, where every saint has a past and every sinner has a future. I’m Jenna, we’re Fred, and this is your dinnertime show. Hopefully we’ll be at least as memorable as the whiskey bread pudding.” She leaned closer to the microphone, sent a smoldering look toward the kitchen, then added in a sultry voice, “But I doubt it.”
Laughter rippled through the room, and she bowed theatrically. Once she popped up and flashed a sexy smile at her audience, she proceeded to introduce her band one by one.
Many of the patrons seemed to know them already. One very large, dark-haired man sitting at a small table by himself wolf-whistled at the bassist when he was introduced, much to the bassist’s embarrassment and everyone else’s delight.
When they started playing, Jon was pleasantly surprised. He had grown up with parents who appreciated music, but only very specifically: his father liked old jazz and his mother only listened to things written before nineteen-hundred. With his lack of experience, popular music mostly confused him. Even he could tell that the band was talented, though, if only by the reactions of the crowd.
Brigit brought them main courses while they watched. She was surprisingly deft for a woman who was watching the stage instead of her hands as she doled out plates and glasses. She gave Jon a curious look when she noticed his barely touched wine glass, and he gave her an apologetic shrug in return.
She waved it away, and brought him a water refill without saying a word.
Under normal circumstances, Jon would have had most of the clientele sized up already—a guy at the bar who was pretending to be interested in a girl, but was really using her as a shield so someone else didn’t see him; the big guy who had whistled at the bassist, who held himself like a man with firsthand experience of violence—they were threats to be cataloged and watched.
Instead of doing his usual mental security sweeps, Jon found himself watching Keegan after making note of only those obvious examples.
The man loved music, or at least he loved Fred. He leaned against the back of the rounded booth, right hand lying across the top of the seat, and left still clutching Jon’s thigh. His eyes were glued to the stage, his head nodding to the beat.
The fact that his hand had hardly moved was impressive. He only removed it once, briefly, so that Jon could go to the restroom. The man had eaten his entire dinner one-handed, leaving the left one in the same position. Jon had previously noticed the stiffness in it, and given his research on Keegan, it seemed possible that it was a remnant of the shooting. That seemed like something Keegan, or more likely his father, would have kept quiet.
Keegan glanced over at Jon, his eyes catching and holding for a long moment. “You’re supposed to be watching the show, not me,” he protested, motioning toward the stage.
Jon shook his head at that. “You’re something else, you know that?”
“Yeah yeah, I’m prettier than Jake,” Keegan said with an eye roll. “The prettiest princess at the ball. Goddamn it. First Juliet and now a princess. Why do I keep calling myself a girl?”
“What?” Jon asked. “Like it’s a bad thing to be a girl?” He had heard enough about how he should try to be more masculine from his schoolmates, and even his friends. He was all in favor of princesses.
The Juliet comment, Jon wasn’t touching with a ten-foot pole.
Keegan shook his head and gave Jon a wry smile, throwing his own words back at him. “You’re something else, you know that?”
“I do my very best,” Jon agreed.
“You do pretty good,” Keegan said, leaning in for a kiss. “I know Jenna said no PDA, but as it turns out, I’m the guy who owns the place.”
Jon accepted the kiss, then pulled back and gave Keegan a dubious look. “Are you sure about that? She seemed pretty adamant. I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble with the boss.”
Keegan gave him a scowl, then leaned completely into his personal space. “You wanna see how I’m the boss around here? I can fire somebody if you want.”
“No you can’t,” Jon said, shaking his head. “They’re family. You couldn’t fire them if you wanted to. It’s a Quinn family trait, I think.”
Keegan’s head fell, but it was an attempt to hide mirth rather than a sign of disappointment. His whole body was shaking with silent laughter. “Dad said you were trying to date me to get information about him, but really, you figured me out by investigating him first.”
The idea that Brendan Quinn had said such a thing made Jon’s gut twist uncomfortably. It seemed like Keegan didn’t believe it, though, which was the important part. Brendan Quinn could rot, for all Jon cared.
Jon leaned in and cupped Keegan’s cheek with his hand. “If I wanted information about your father, you’re not the guy I’d be dating for it. I’d much rather know about you. And, you know, a guy gets a lot from his father. Mine taught me how to play hockey, yours taught you how to run an empire.”
Lips quirking up in a smile, Keegan brought his head up to capture Jon’s mouth in another kiss. “I love that you left the word ‘criminal’ out of that sentence.”
“Your empire isn’t criminal,” Jon said, waving his arm to indicate the restaurant. “But I’m more than willing to accept kisses for being observant enough to notice that.”
“You don’t think that’s a little dishonest?” Keegan finally removed his hand from Jon’s thigh, and it left a cold stab of disappointment behind. He followed up by wrapping his left arm around Jon’s neck, though, so Jon couldn’t find it in himself to complain.
Jon let himself lean into Keegan’s arms, public displays be damned, and shrugged half-heartedly. “Probably. I guess I’ve gone completely off the rails. First raw cookie dough, now accepting kisses on questionable grounds. Next week they’ll find me in Vegas surrounded by hookers and blow, dead of an overdose.”
“Of cookie dough?” Keegan waved his right hand dismissively. “That kind of thing takes way more than a week, unless you’re really determined.”
It was Jon’s turn to collapse against Keegan in laughter, despite the attempt to stifle it.
“Okay, you two,” Jenna’s voice came over the speaker, sounding amused but pre
tending sternness. “I can take a hint.”
When Jon lifted his head, he realized the house lights had been brightened a bit, and half the restaurant’s occupants were looking at him and Keegan. He lifted his hand and gave her a little wave.
She grinned brightly and waved back. “Seriously, you guys, how about a hand for our new friend, Agent Jon, who managed to keep his hands off Keegan for almost two hours in the name of music?”
Laughter and applause filled the room. Keegan hid his face in Jon’s neck, shaking his head. He was blushing so hard that the heat from his cheek was obvious against Jon’s skin above his shirt collar.
Jon was more than willing to absorb the attention to protect Keegan from it. He was introverted, so people were tiring, but he wasn’t at all shy or nervous about people looking at him. He gave the room a wide smile and waved at them, while pulling Keegan closer to himself.
He adopted his best stage voice—pleased that years of drama classes had not been wasted—and spoke directly to Jenna. “That’s Special Agent Jon to you, Miss . . .”
She threw her head back and laughed. “McKenna, believe it or not. And no,” she said, holding up a finger as though to stop someone from interrupting. “That’s not a stage name. My parents really saddled me with Jenna McKenna.”
The people in the room laughed again, but they had largely ceased to exist for him, and he suspected that was the case for her as well. He recognized a fellow ham in the charismatic lead singer, and he didn’t often indulge his love of the spotlight.
“I’d say I’m sorry, but I think you like telling that story enough to make up for it,” he said.
“Me?” she asked, hand to her heart and feigning hurt. “Are you calling me a drama queen?”
He smirked at her. “Queen? I think you’re underestimating yourself. You’re a drama goddess. Meanwhile, I think my earlier restraint deserves a reward.” He looked down at Keegan, who lifted his head to meet Jon’s eyes, still looking amused and slightly embarrassed. Then he turned his eyes back up to Jenna. “So we’re gonna go now. I think you suggested his office.”
He slid out of the booth, an arm wrapped around Keegan’s waist so he could pull the other man along with him. Applause followed them.
There was one guy, though . . .
The guy who had been hiding behind a girl earlier. He was wearing a current-season Tom Ford suit, had a tan that screamed tanning booth, and gold hair so perfect that Jon didn’t believe he could have done it himself. He glared as they passed, and it didn’t look like the disgust of a homophobe. There was something personal in the way his eyes lingered on Keegan.
Jon let his eyes drift around the room to avoid getting caught staring. He found the big guy who had been his other person of concern. Unlike the glaring guy, this one met his eyes, nodded, and made a subtle motion to his belt, where a CPD badge was attached. The guy’s eyes cut to the glaring guy, then back to Jon, eyebrow raised. Jon nodded subtly.
“Do you know Liam?” Brigit asked, coming up behind them, carrying a to-go bag. At his blank look, she motioned to the cop. “Alex’s boyfriend. You guys were sharing a moment, so I wondered.”
Jon shook his head and gave her what he hoped was a meaningful look. “We’ve never met, but we work in a similar field.” He kept his voice low, not wanting Suit Guy to hear them.
She nodded, her face having gone back to the usual benign expression. She was really good at that. “Here you go,” she said, holding up the bag. “Chef Drew’s famous chocolate chip cookie dough cake. Keegan asked me to put this together while you were in the bathroom. Now, you guys better go before Key spontaneously combusts from terminal embarrassment.”
They only went as far as Keegan’s office, thinking it would be easier than getting to someone’s car, let alone deciding whose car it would be and where they would go.
Keegan practically collapsed in a pile of laughter when they got to the office. His cheeks were bright red, but he couldn’t seem to stop his shaking chest, either, and it didn’t look like panic to Jon.
“Chocolate chip cookie dough cake?” he asked.
“It really is famous,” Keegan managed to say, holding up a semi-defensive hand. “Some famous food blogger did a whole thing about it. There was a poem. A pretty decent one.”
Jon didn’t know what to say to that. He wasn’t sure if writing poems about cake was weird, or if it meant that the cake was incredible. Easy enough to find out.
He sat in one of the chairs in front of Keegan’s desk and opened the bag. One serving of cake, albeit a huge one, and two forks. Brigit was not messing around with the whole matchmaking thing. He held a fork out to Keegan, who sat down in the second chair in front of his own desk, gave Jon that shy smile that hurt his heart, and whispered his thanks.
“You okay?” Jon asked. “I was hoping your embarrassment wasn’t a serious anxiety issue, but I figured you would have shared that with me.”
Keegan cut a piece of cake with his fork, then pushed the container closer to Jon. “Nah. I mean sure, I’ve got plenty of anxiety. My thera—” Keegan cut off and looked up at him, nervous.
“Your therapist is helping you with anxiety, but it’s not social anxiety?” Jon tried to be as calm and laid back about it as possible. The last thing Keegan needed was intense interest and added stress.
“No. She thinks it’s post-traumatic stress.” Keegan whispered, then stuffed the cake into his mouth as though he could force it to stop speaking like that.
Not looking at Keegan, Jon got a forkful of cake. It looked like a chocolate cake with a layer of raw cookie dough in the center. He kept his voice light when he spoke. “My brother struggles with anxiety sometimes. It took him till his twenties to get his driver’s license. We got in a car accident when we were kids, and it stayed with him.”
“But he got it?” Keegan asked, his voice still subdued.
Jon paused before eating his cake. “Yeah. It took some therapy. I forget what they call it, where they make you do the thing that scares you? I thought it was a little intense, but it was important to Em, so we supported him as much as we could.”
“Em. Miles?” Keegan asked. Jon nodded. “It’s exposure. My therapist said I could do it. Go to a range and try shooting a gun again. I—I don’t want that.”
Jon swallowed his moan. Yeah, there were poems to be written about this cake. He had to remind himself to rejoin the conversation. He thought of his gun, still holstered under his jacket. Keegan hadn’t reacted to it, but maybe he hadn’t noticed it. Jon wondered if maybe he should start leaving it behind when he took Keegan out. “If it’s not what you want, I’m sure it’s not necessary. But I’m not a therapist. I’m sure yours already told you that.”
Keegan nodded, taking another bite of cake. “This is kind of lame of me,” he said, staring at his fork. “I practically promised you sex, and now I’m just being depressing and telling you my sob story.”
“It’s not a sob story. It’s part of who you are.” Jon unsubtly slid the cake closer to himself once again. “And in case it wasn’t obvious, I’m not in it only for sex. Or sex at all, if that’s not what you’re into. This cake is pretty damn satisfying either way.”
Blinking up at him, Keegan almost dropped his fork. “At all?”
“Sure. Em’s like that.” Jon stopped, cocked his head, and then shook it. “That came out wrong. Em’s asexual. He’s not interested in sex. He’s had it, and he says it’s okay, but it’s not something he cares about. It’s like doing the dishes because you’re supposed to.”
Keegan considered that for a moment, then shook his head. “I’m not, um, asexual. I like sex. I just haven’t had any in a long time.”
Jon suspected that given a minute and a little math, he could count the exact number of days since Keegan had seriously thought about having sex.
“I want to,” Keegan said, speaking up again before Jon had a chance to answer. “I spent half the afternoon thinking about getting you back here, but cake wasn’t part o
f that picture.”
“We’ve got all the time in the world,” he told Keegan. “I didn’t ask you out just for a hookup. My hand is a perfectly acceptable short-term solution. Or, like I said before, long-term, if you want.”
“You’re crazy,” Keegan said, shaking his head and reaching out to duel for more cake.
Jon pretended to fend him off with his fork for a second, but then slid the cake back out for Keegan to take what he wanted. “Not even a little crazy, unless you count fighting over cake. I follow the rules, and the rules say that a decent guy doesn’t push for sex his date doesn’t want.”
Cake halfway to his mouth, Keegan paused, looked at Jon for a moment, then redirected his fork to Jon’s mouth. Jon accepted with a smile.
#
“So, let me make sure I’ve got this,” Miles said slowly. His eyes were locked on the road, but the right corner of his lips that Jon could see rose into a wry grin. “You’ve gotten yourself demoted at work so you can date a guy you barely know, whose father is a crime lord you’d like to see in prison.”
Miles was one of the smartest people Jon knew, if not the smartest, but he tended to miss nuances, especially if they were strictly emotional ones. Maybe taking his brother to Wilde’s the day after his and Keegan’s first real date was a horrible mistake. Still, Miles had asked, and Jon had only needed to put in a few hours at the office that Saturday morning, so it had seemed like a good idea to have lunch together.
“You literally listed only the bad things about this. And you exaggerated them,” Jon protested, frowning at his brother. Slowly, he lifted his arm to point at a parking structure some distance down the street. “The garage is right there.”
It was best not to startle Miles while he was driving, but when the family went out, he was always the one at the wheel. That little bit of control made him feel more secure in a car, and no one was inclined to begrudge him his safety. It helped that he was also the most skilled, cautious driver Jon knew.
Miles nodded, flipped on his turn indicator, and slowed down. “Okay, so tell me the good parts. He makes you feel all fluttery?”