his window as he started to cross the street below.
He and Ben had been on exactly the same wavelength when they first met. There was no way he would have guessed, after their first drunken evening together in Milan, that they weren’t the same age. The longer they were together, the more it seemed that Ben stayed perpetually young—in spirit, at least—while he seemed to age for both of them. Perhaps that was the effect of corporate life.
Looking down into the street below, he saw a Vespa coming around the corner just a few seconds before Evan did. It was a fucking miracle that he managed to get across the street before the fast-moving bike took him out. From behind the pane of window glass, Theo heard Evan cussing out the rider. He had such a potty mouth. Theo smiled, thinking that Evan absolutely was a bundle of contradictions: He had the face of an innocent and the soul of a street fighter.
Forgetting his back pain momentarily, he watched as the Vespa rider circled back, pulling to a halt right next to the curb near Evan. He couldn’t help his smile as he watched the smaller man gesticulating wildly, getting right up in the rider’s face. Yeah, fearless.
He blinked a little as the rider dismounted, towering over Evan. Theo fumbled for a pocket before remembering that he was wearing sweats. His cell phone was in the kitchen. Fuck. He hoped he wasn’t about to witness David Daly’s boy getting a beating.
The other dude was much taller than Evan. Theo could see that even from his skewed third-floor perspective. His shoulders looked twice the breadth of Evan’s, who watched the other man approach, then looked over his shoulder, scoping out an escape route, perhaps. Even from this distance, Theo noted the way his fists curled. Yeah, the kid had learned something about survival before he lived with the Dalys, Theo figured.
He watched as the other man held out his hands, palms facing Evan, like he was calming a startled pony. Theo huffed out a breath heavy with relief. Then he gasped as the taller man reached into the inner pocket of his jacket. Fuck. Please God, not a gun.
Theo’s split second of horror stretched out long and thin as he mentally calculated whether to smash his window as a distraction, or try to reach his phone first. Thankfully, the scrap of paper the other man pulled from his pocket waved in the breeze like a small white flag, signaling surrender.
Almost panting as if he’d been running instead of standing still, Theo hung onto the window sill as he watched Evan lean in toward the other man, frowning as he took the paper from him. He nodded, then gestured toward Theo’s building. The other man turned to look in the direction Evan pointed, removed his helmet and placed it on the bike’s seat. All Theo saw was a mess of dark hair and a huge smile.
Theo backed away from the window some, then edged closer again as the rider proceeded to strip off his jacket, looking around for a moment for somewhere to put it before thrusting it into Evan’s arms. Theo blinked and shook his head as he watched one man start to strip—right there, out on the sidewalk—while the other held a growing pile of his discarded clothes.
The other man shed a black band T-shirt before replacing it with a crumpled dress shirt from a side pannier on his bike, which he tucked into equally creased dress pants.
“What the hell?” Theo had never seen anything like it. Perhaps Evan hadn’t either. He stood, clutching the pile of discarded clothes, eyes wide. Once Theo stopped fearing for Evan’s life, he could almost see the humor in the situation. It wasn’t every day that Theo got to see a nearly naked young man outside his apartment window, and the taller dude was built.
Tanned and built.
He smiled as he watched the taller young man’s—and he was young, Theo saw that once he turned again to look at the building—expressive face crease with a frown. He made a hand movement that Theo interpreted as how do I look?
He and Ben had been on exactly the same wavelength when they first met. There was no way he would have guessed, after their first drunken evening together in Milan, that they weren’t the same age. The longer they were together, the more it seemed that Ben stayed perpetually young—in spirit, at least—while he seemed to age for both of them. Perhaps that was the effect of corporate life.
Looking down into the street below, he saw a Vespa coming around the corner just a few seconds before Evan did. It was a fucking miracle that he managed to get across the street before the fast-moving bike took him out. From behind the pane of window glass, Theo heard Evan cussing out the rider. He had such a potty mouth. Theo smiled, thinking that Evan absolutely was a bundle of contradictions: He had the face of an innocent and the soul of a street fighter.
Forgetting his back pain momentarily, he watched as the Vespa rider circled back, pulling to a halt right next to the curb near Evan. He couldn’t help his smile as he watched the smaller man gesticulating wildly, getting right up in the rider’s face. Yeah, fearless.
He blinked a little as the rider dismounted, towering over Evan. Theo fumbled for a pocket before remembering that he was wearing sweats. His cell phone was in the kitchen. Fuck. He hoped he wasn’t about to witness David Daly’s boy getting a beating.
The other dude was much taller than Evan. Theo could see that even from his skewed third-floor perspective. His shoulders looked twice the breadth of Evan’s, who watched the other man approach, then looked over his shoulder, scoping out an escape route, perhaps. Even from this distance, Theo noted the way his fists curled. Yeah, the kid had learned something about survival before he lived with the Dalys, Theo figured.
He watched as the other man held out his hands, palms facing Evan, like he was calming a startled pony. Theo huffed out a breath heavy with relief. Then he gasped as the taller man reached into the inner pocket of his jacket. Fuck. Please God, not a gun.
Theo’s split second of horror stretched out long and thin as he mentally calculated whether to smash his window as a distraction, or try to reach his phone first. Thankfully, the scrap of paper the other man pulled from his pocket waved in the breeze like a small white flag, signaling surrender.
Almost panting as if he’d been running instead of standing still, Theo hung onto the window sill as he watched Evan lean in toward the other man, frowning as he took the paper from him. He nodded, then gestured toward Theo’s building. The other man turned to look in the direction Evan pointed, removed his helmet and placed it on the bike’s seat. All Theo saw was a mess of dark hair and a huge smile.
Theo backed away from the window some, then edged closer again as the rider proceeded to strip off his jacket, looking around for a moment for somewhere to put it before thrusting it into Evan’s arms. Theo blinked and shook his head as he watched one man start to strip—right there, out on the sidewalk—while the other held a growing pile of his discarded clothes.
The other man shed a black band T-shirt before replacing it with a crumpled dress shirt from a side pannier on his bike, which he tucked into equally creased dress pants.
“What the hell?” Theo had never seen anything like it. Perhaps Evan hadn’t either. He stood, clutching the pile of discarded clothes, eyes wide. Once Theo stopped fearing for Evan’s life, he could almost see the humor in the situation. It wasn’t every day that Theo got to see a nearly naked young man outside his apartment window, and the taller dude was built.
Tanned and built.
He smiled as he watched the taller young man’s—and he was young, Theo saw that once he turned again to look at the building—expressive face crease with a frown. He made a hand movement that Theo interpreted as how do I look?
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