Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
“You do know I can hear you, right?”
“You’re nervous because it’s new, but try not to overthink it,” Rory said, ignoring Robert. “It’s not that different from flirting with a girl at the club. You’re still just a guy, standing in your brother’s gym, asking another guy if he’s open to anal.”
“Jesus, Rory,” Matthew swore, laughing despite the knots in his stomach. “You’re not helping.”
“Yes, I am. Go say hello.” Rory put his hand on Matthew’s back and pushed lightly. “Report back after this assignment for further instructions and a cookie.”
Matthew hesitated before walking slowly in Oliver’s direction. Was he really going to do this? Just go up and introduce himself to the man who’d thrown him so off balance he no longer knew which end was up?
Getting this impromptu dinner together had been the best idea he could come up with, but he wasn’t feeling all that confident about any of their advice at the moment.
Then again, his current plan of waiting for Oliver to make eye contact or initiate their meeting himself was a giant fail, so at this point Robert was right. Other than being rejected in a way that might scar him for life, what did he have to lose?
You are a sad excuse for a Finn.
Maybe he’d blown the situation all out of proportion, and this awkward introduction was just what he needed to break the spell. On closer inspection, Oliver H. Garcia might not be as mysterious or desirable.
Stranger things had happened.
The man in question turned his head, just as Matthew reached his side.
“Can I help you?”
God, he hoped so, because he had the sneaking suspicion the ground was falling away beneath his feet.
“Hey.”
Chapter Two
Hey?
All Irishmen, and Finns in particular, were blessed with the gift of gab. Matthew was known for it. His own brother had managed to talk his wife into a secret wedding for fuck’s sake. And that was ages before she actually liked him.
Faced with a man as beautiful as this one, Matthew wanted to pull out all the stops, and all he’d managed to come up with was Hey.
But then his silver tongue was no match for those eyes. Christ, he was fucking stunning. There were paintings in museums that had nothing on the real thing standing in front of him and glistening—fucking glistening—with the sweat from his workout.
Matthew had been around burly boxers all his life, and though this guy didn’t fit that bill, he had to be an athlete. The way he moved had been Matthew’s first clue, but now that he was up close and seeing the lean muscles and perfect proportions? No one had a body like that without years of focus, a shit-ton of vanity, or both.
He couldn’t be a gymnast, could he? This wasn’t that kind of place and William wasn’t that kind of trainer. His brother was more likely to teach someone how to fight dirty in an alley, or stay off the ropes long enough to make a point.
You could always ask him why he’s here. Say something soon, though, because he’s looking at you like he might need to find his pepper spray.
“It’s Oliver, right?” His voice was pitched wrong. Deeper than normal. He cleared his throat and offered a harmless smile.
It held, despite the spark of wariness he saw in those warm brown eyes. Oliver tugged on the cords to his ear buds, his damp curls clinging to his temple when he tilted his head. “Sorry, it’s what?”
“Your name. It’s Oliver?”
He started to nod but something over Matthew’s shoulder caught his attention. From his expression, he had a feeling he knew what the poor guy was seeing.
“They’re staring, aren’t they?” You bastards.
“Yes. They are definitely staring. Wait.” He paused, pursing his lips in a way that made Matthew want to kiss them. “They were staring. Now they’re pretending to look at something behind us. Lots of head shaking. Some pointing. They’re really selling it.”
Matthew put a hand behind his back and made a rude gesture only Rory and Robert would see. “Sorry about that. I always wondered what having a big, nosy family would feel like. Be careful what you wish for, right?”
Oliver’s perfectly arched eyebrows rose slowly as he spoke. “You must be the owner’s brother.”
Be charming. “Is it the accent that gave me away?”
“He said almost exactly the same thing yesterday. About big families being nosy. And you don’t have freckles and aren’t as built as he is, but yes, that accent is hard to miss. Mark, right? He said he had a brother named Mark.”
Matthew wasn’t sure what he should react to first. The melodic timber of Oliver’s voice, his no-nonsense way of speaking, or the incredibly unflattering description.
Mark? Ouch.
“It’s Matthew. Matthew Finn. And I’m William’s only brother, unless he’s keeping secrets again. His less-built, but hopefully more interesting younger brother. At your service.”