My dessert, a molten chocolate cake cooked directly in a mug over an open fire at the back of the kitchen, had been cleared thirty minutes before. I’d also already paid my bill, but I hadn’t yet budged from my stool. Maybe people obsessed with chefs were on to something, I thought. Because watching Lachlan work, I suddenly understood why cooking shows were so damn popular. Or maybe it was just him. Whatever this new fascination of mine was, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the hot, tattooed chef working in front of me. Which probably explained why this was the fifth time I’d eaten at CAMP in the last two weeks.

“When do you officially start training?” Lachlan asked, keeping his eyes on the food he was plating.

“Two more weeks,” I replied, stretching my arms above my head and arching my back to crack my spine. While I may have revised my earlier opinion of celebrity chefs, nothing would ever change my mind about perching my ass on a stool for hours at a time. After a three-hour meal, my ass was sore and my neck and shoulders hurt. But despite my discomfort, I continued watching him work, getting to know him. Letting him get to know me.

“You must be looking forward to it.”

I cracked my neck. “Yeah, it’ll be good to get back on the pitch. To get to know my new teammates.”

“Have you met any of them before?” he asked, passing the final plate of the night to another chef to sauce before being served.

“Normally I would be familiar with most of the lads through league play, but with my injury last season I didn’t play as much as I would have liked. And with a lot of turnover on Edinburgh’s roster, I don’t know as many as I should.” I’d reached out to a few of the guys I knew in passing from playing against one another for years, and had gone to drinks with one or two, but by and large, I was walking into a new organization blind, something I hadn’t done since I’d played school rugby. For years, I’d been one of the elder statesmen for Dublin, and I never gave serious thought to starting all over again at this point in my career—not until it’d been a necessity.

But I didn’t want to talk about that, so instead I asked, “You follow the sport?”

Lachlan laughed and shook his head. “No, can’t say that I do.” Pausing to wipe down his station, his eyes—the same color as the whisky I’d drank earlier in the night—locked on mine and held while he swiped the rag back and forth over the stainless-steel surface. “Maybe I should go to a match this season. See what all the fuss is about.” His gaze roamed my face, skated over my shoulders and my chest, and then dropped down quickly before flicking back up. He couldn’t see that I was sporting a semi beneath the counter, but when he licked his lips appreciatively it seemed like he knew exactly how he affected me.

But then I’d remind myself I didn’t want him to affect me, and I’d bury my attraction where it couldn’t see the light of day. Or at least that’s what I’d been trying to do the entire night. Mostly, I was just failing—every time my brain would say, “No, he’s off limits,” my cock would say, “But we like him, and we want to play.”

“I didn’t ask before,” he said, pulling my thoughts back to the conversation at hand and away from what I wanted to do with him, “did you move here with anyone, or is it just you?”

Why do you want to know? I almost blurted, but then held back. This was a dance I wasn’t used to—at least not where another man was concerned—and I didn’t want to give myself away, in case the spark that existed between us was only in my imagination.

I shook my head. “Nope, just me.”

“No girlfriend back in Dublin then?”

I laughed and rubbed my palm over my torso. I could still feel the cut of my abs, but after the way I’d indulged tonight, I’d need to do a few extra sets of sit-ups tomorrow morning before I went for my run.

“I’m not exactly the relationship type,” I told him truthfully. It didn’t matter if it was guys or girls—I was shit when it came to commitment.

In ten years, I’d had two girlfriends—one that had lasted three months before she wanted a ring, and another who I’d been with going on six months until I found out she was fucking a soccer player too. I’d spent the last four years a free man, fucking anyone I wanted, anytime I wanted. The only exception being last year when I’d come dangerously close to dating a friend of one of my teammates’ wives. Thankfully, we’d realized we were too much alike and had decided to be friends instead. Which reminded me, I needed to give Brienne a call and invite her out now that I’d settled into my apartment.

Lachlan pushed off the counter and hoisted his apron over his head. Hanging it on a peg to his right, he asked, “A real love ‘em and leave ‘em type then?”

“Yeah, something like that.” I searched his face for some clue that he wanted me to say more, to tell him there’d been a man too, but I saw nothing that indicated he cared one way or the other. I shrugged to mask my delayed response. “You know how it is with professional athletes.”

He shook his head. “Nope, but if it’s anything like what goes on in a professional kitchen, I can guess.”

Just then, a stunning hostess with long black hair cascading down her back in thick, luscious waves approached, and three of the men working in the kitchen eyed her sinful curves with longing. I recognized that look because I’d been the recipient of similar ones over the years—they’d each fucked her once already but would happily go back for seconds.

I dragged my eyes back to Lachlan’s with a knowing smirk. “Yeah, that seems about right.”

Lachlan came around the bar and. “I’m done for the night,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Already?” I looked around and noticed the dining room was empty, except for the restaurant’s other employees—and me. “Fuck. What time is it?”

“Eleven,” the red-haired waitress from my first dining at CAMP said pointedly as she sailed past with a scathing look.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” I said, turning back to Lachlan. “Why didn’t you kick me out?”

He shrugged and looked away. Moving toward the front of the restaurant, I followed him. “I like talking with you, I guess,” he said, grabbing a set of keys from behind the podium. “Helps the night go quicker.”

I colored under his praise and hoped the dim overhead lights masked my reaction. “If you say so. But next time, tell me to get the fuck out.”

“I doubt anyone’s ever kicked you out of anywhere,” he said, shrugging into his coat. He paused for a brief moment. “So, this might seem strange, but do you need to be up early tomorrow?”

Holy fuck, he’s going to ask me back to his place, I thought as my cock stirred to life and thickened in my jeans. But then I reminded myself I’d have to find a way to turn him down even though I wanted nothing more than to let him have his wicked way with me.

I shook my head slowly. “Nope, no plans. Why?”

Please tell me it’s because you want to take me home and fuck my brains out.

He glanced out the window and said, “I’m heading over to a friend’s house—he’s having a party—and wondered if you wanted to tag along.” He dragged his eyes back to mine, and his normally warm, open gaze had shuttered. Now, his eyes appeared cautious, and his body was strung tight, his whole demeanor reserved. “Since you don’t know anyone here, I thought you might like to meet some new people.”

And just like that, my dick went soft. Lachlan hadn’t been flirting with me; he’d been being friendly, and I’d completely misread his intent. Shit. For as good as I was at reading people on the pitch, apparently, I fucking sucked at it out in the real world. No wonder the only people I ever hooked up with were the ones who walked right up to me and told me they wanted to suck my cock. I couldn’t be trusted to figure it out otherwise.

Shoving my disappointment down deep, I smiled tightly. “Yeah, that’d be great.” I gestured toward the door and followed him outside, my collar popped and my head bowed against the rain.

* * *

When Lachlan had said a friend was having a party, I didn’t know what I’d expected, but it wasn’t this. We were about thirty minutes outside of town—I couldn’t begin to say where exactly—at a drafty old manor house that had seen better days. Fires roared in each of the six fireplaces I’d counted, but the house was still freezing. Even if it wasn’t, there was no way I was removing my coat. But it didn’t seem the fires were only about keeping the place warm; in the other room, someone was roasting a chicken on a spit in one of them. But the craziest part was how many goddamn people there were milling about. By my estimation there were at least 200 guests on this floor alone; who knew how many others were hanging out upstairs?

“You said this is your friend’s party?” I asked, throwing back a swallow of beer.

Lachlan laughed and shook his head. “A friend of a friend, more like. My neighbor Angus dated the guy who’s hosting.”

“And this place is his?” I asked with a skeptical glance around the room. Plaster was broken off in huge chunks of the walls, and the crown molding was missing several ornate rosettes. The house did not look lived in, much less habitable.

“You know, I’m not sure,” he said, taking a long drink of his own. “His family’s maybe?”

“You don’t think it’s weird there’s no heat, or that someone is using the fireplace to cook a goddamn chicken?”

Lachlan scratched at his stubble. “When you put it like that, maybe a bit weird.”

“A bit?” I asked with a raised eyebrow. “I’ve partied enough to last me a lifetime, but this is some next level shit.” As if to illustrate my point, a woman in a mime costume rolled past on a unicycle. Both Lachlan and I followed her trail with our eyes as she weaved between partygoers.

“Artists,” Lachlan answered with a shrug.

As if to illustrate his point, a naked woman dotted with colorful paint splotches approached with two brushes in hand. Extending one to each of us, she cooed, “My body is a canvas. Paint me as you will.”

Lachlan’s eyes gleamed with mischief as he took the proffered brush and ran it through a glob of blue paint and then set to work brushing it over her back and along her shoulder blades. I ran my brush through the red paint, but when it came time to apply it to her skin, I hesitated. The idea that random strangers had touched this woman in all her most intimate parts made me uncomfortable. It was one thing to defile a person’s body when it was just the two of you, but something about touching her like this—so publicly and without pleasure or intent—left a bad taste in my mouth. With two quick strokes, I painted a heart on her bicep and passed the brush back to her.

“That’s all? she asked, glancing down at my work. “I’m a beautiful, naked woman giving you carte blanche to mark my body however you want, and that’s what you came up with?”

I shrugged apologetically. “I’m not much of an artist.”

She looked down the length of her slim, lithe body, her arms akimbo. “Does this not inspire more? Do you not look at me and see beauty? Or does my body repulse you?”

Her questions—each one louder than the previous—drew a crowd to our side of the room. I was used to being looked at, cheered on, and heckled, but this was outside my comfort zone. I hated how these people’s eyes darted between the woman and me, the snickering and whispered comments I overheard.

“Maybe he’s gay,” one woman speculated.

“All the hot ones are,” her friend responded.

Next to me, Lachlan chuckled while he put the finishing touches on whatever he was painting on her skin. When he passed the brush back to her with a flourish, soft applause echoed around us.

“He’s certainly inspired,” remarked a man with a Salvador Dalí mustache standing to Lachlan’s right.

Hoping to deflect any more criticism, I crossed my arms and scratched my chin, adopting a contemplative pose I saw others holding. Maybe if I looked like I was taking this seriously, the crowd would ignore me and move on to something more interesting.

Lachlan sidled up next to me. “Sorry about that,” he whispered out the side of his mouth.

My eyes darted to his and I shook my head minutely. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

As the body paint lady moved on, so did the crowd, leaving Lachlan and me standing in our own little bubble. Around us, the party raged on, but no one seemed to pay any attention to us, or our conversation.

“What did you paint on her?”

“Bones,” he answered.

“What?”

“Her skeleton, more precisely.”

“That’s all?”

“What the fuck else was I supposed to paint on her naked body?” he asked with a hitch of his lips.

I laughed and took another swig of my beer, finishing the last of it. “A heart?”

“I should have,” he said with a smirk. “Her ass was the shape of a perfect upside down heart.”

“I didn’t notice.”

He nudged me with his elbow. “No, you were too busy trying not to notice anything about her … ahem … assets. Very gentlemanly of you.”

When another paint-slicked naked woman sailed past, I let out a groan and looked up at the ceiling. “For fuck’s sake,” I muttered. “Put some goddamn clothes on, people.”

“Hey,” Lachlan called, drawing my attention. “We can go anytime you want. I get it. This isn’t your scene.”

“But it’s yours?” I asked, trying to picture him navigating the crowd.

He’d been pretty good about sticking by my side all night, so I hadn’t had an opportunity to observe how he interacted with other guests. But from what I did know about Lachlan MacLeod, I really couldn’t picture him hanging out with people like this. He was too straightforward and plain spoken.

His eyes raked over the throng and he shrugged. “I don’t know,” he admitted with a sigh. “It used to be, I guess.”

He turned, and instinctively I followed. Stepping out into the frosty night, my breath created fog clouds that swirled in front of me.

Lachlan’s head dropped back and he took in the smattering of stars overhead. “Nice night.”

“It’s fucking freezing,” I said, blowing a hot puff of air into my cupped hands.

“I don’t mind the cold,” he said, punching the button on his key fob to unlock his car doors. “Something about the chill makes things seem clearer,” he remarked cryptically.

Once Lachlan wedged his Audi from its parking spot and down the drive, he said, “I’m sorry I dragged you out here.”

“It’s grand,” I answered. I hadn’t loved the atmosphere or the people I’d met, but I wasn’t sorry I’d come. Tonight had given me a glimpse into a different side of him, so it hadn’t been all bad. And yet, I felt like I’d walked away with more questions than answers. “You said this used to be your scene. What does that mean?”

He flicked on his signal, looked both ways, and turned onto a larger, two-lane road. “I used to party with these people all the time. Before I got clean.”

“Clean?”

He cast me a quick glance before dragging his eyes back to the road. “Heroin.”

“Ah, I see,” I responded lamely.

The truth was, I didn’t see. As a professional athlete, I’d known a few guys over the years who’d become addicted to painkillers or had gotten hooked on steroids, but I’d never known anyone who did drugs simply for the sake of getting high, much less anyone who depended on them to get through the day. I couldn’t imagine willingly sticking a needle in my arm and pumping my veins full of something so damaging.

Lachlan laughed cynically. “You don’t, but that’s okay. Like I said, I’m clean.”

I nodded silently, trying to absorb this new piece of information. A few minutes ago, I’d lamented the fact that I didn’t really know Lachlan, and now I’d learned more about him than I’d bargained for.

“How long?” I asked, trying to picture the man sitting next to me as a junkie and failing.

“How long have I been clean?”

“Yeah.”

“Six years, give or take. Once I decided I wanted to run my own restaurant, I gave that shit up.”

“Wow, that’s …”

“It is what it is,” he said matter-of-factly.” I’m not proud of who I was or the things I did when I was high, but I don’t deny it or try to hide it either.”

I flinched at his words. I knew he wasn’t talking about me, but the words stung nevertheless. I’d done nothing but hide my entire life. First from myself and my desires, and now from the world.

I swallowed. “That’s commendable.”

“That’s life,” he said when we stopped at the light.

We fell silent then, and when the light turned green, he continued driving.

“It’s late. Do you want me to drop you at your place, or …?”

“My place is fine,” I said. “Turn left at the Sainsbury up ahead.”

A few minutes later we pulled up in front of my flat, the engine idling. Once we’d arrived at the manor house, everything had gone to shit and that had left me feeling unsettled. While I didn’t know how I felt about him being a former addict, I liked Lachlan and I wanted to hang out with him again. I missed having friends to shoot the shit with, and I’d thought from our earlier interactions he could fill that void. But after the party and the way our conversation had gone during the drive back into the city, I wasn’t so sure that was true anymore.

“So, um—” I started, but Lachlan interrupted before I could get the words out.

“I’m just going to put this out there—”

He laughed. “Sorry, you were saying?”

I cleared my throat. “Look, you’re right. That party wasn’t my scene. I honestly don’t know what my scene is, but I think it’s fair to say it’s something with far fewer people.”

“Fair enough,” he said, swiveling in his seat so his back was pressed against the door and he was facing me.

“So maybe we could go get a beer some time and just hang out. I don’t know anyone here yet and …” I groaned and dropped my head into the seat.

If I wasn’t careful, he might think I was asking him out. I wasn’t. I couldn’t. As much as I might want him to shove his tongue down my throat and stick his hands down my pants, we could never do that. All we could be is friends.

Which was why I continued, “I could use a friend, I guess is what I’m saying.”

“Friends,” he intoned, rolling the word over like he was trying it on for size.

I waited with baited breath while he decided if I was the type of friend he wanted. From the way he’d been greeted at the party, it was obvious he had plenty of friends—maybe he didn’t need another one. Especially one like me—one who’d silently lust after him while hoping he never suspected.

Lachlan smiled then, and the breath I’d been holding left my chest in a relieved gust.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”