Page 15 of Finley

And thatshorthair—God, yes.

When did he do that?

Generally, he wasn’t the type to go weak-kneed over a good-looking guy, but when his brain had finally caught up and realized that the man staring up at him was Daniel…Damn, it was all he could do not to brace himself against the railing.

There was no mistaking those amber eyes, though, and there was certainly no way to misinterpret the hungry way they’d devoured him as he remained paralyzed beside his friend.

The young man who had left all those years ago was nowhere to be seen. Oh, there were hints of him in the confident adult down on the beach, but not much. Age had amplified all of Daniel’s assets to maximum potential, and that final look he’d aimed up at Brantley made him more than grateful he’d decided to wear the loose shirt currently covering his arousal.

Jesus, I need another drink.

“Yeah, okay. I totally get the nerves now.”

“You’re not helping, Jordan. Not one little bit.”

“Sorry. But when you said he was back, I figured we were going to see the guy with the long hair and puppy-dog eyes for you. But damn, Brantley.” Jordan laughed as they both turned away from the scene below. “Those werenotpuppy-dog eyes. They were fuck-me eyes if ever I’ve seen them.”

Brantley adjusted the collar of his shirt, even though two buttons were open and it didn’t actually need it. Some habits died hard. “Fuck.”

“Cursing, too, huh? Youarein a state.” Jordan chuckled as he leaned over and bumped shoulders with him. “I understand the nerves, but not the problem.”

When Brantley turned, his friend’s eyebrow winged up.

“What? I don’t. He’s an adult—a very fucking hot one, but still an adult. You’re also ofage…so, what’s the problem? Other than the intimidation factor? I mean,oohboy, that man is all kinds of intense.”

“I don’t know. I was nervous before about the age thing and how I look, and shit, he’s so—” Brantley paused. “The problem is, he’s thirty and I’m?—”

“Thirty-nine. Who gives a shit?”

Ugh, he was being an idiot. A self-conscious, insecure idiot. He never doubted himself—not ever. But the last time he was near Daniel in any kind of capacity, including an intimate one, had been years ago. He wasn’t foolish enough to think he hadn’t changed.

He had silver peppering his hair now, and a sprinkling of it had appeared on his chest. And though he was an avid runner and still made sure to log his beach mileage each morning, he was well aware that he wasn’t as young as he used to be.

Apparently his insecurities didn’t extend to his overeager cock, though. It didn’t seem to give a damn what age he or Daniel were. From the first time he’d seen Daniel, it had wanted him.

“I need another drink. Something stronger than this.”

Jordan patted him on the back and grinned. “Cheer up, would you? I’d be doing cartwheels if someone looked at me the way he just did you.”

Brantley didn’t bother with a retort. He was too busy trying to push aside the memory of that look so he could get his wayward dick under control. It wouldn’t do him any good to run into Camille in such a state.

He headed inside through the back sliding door and over to the kitchen, where the sink had been converted into two ice buckets of sorts. They were piled high and had two silver scoops shoved into the cubes.

Barbecues by the beach. They always made it feel as if summer were really there, even if he’d spent the last few somewhat isolated.

He grabbed one of the red plastic cups on the kitchen counter and then reached for a scoop. As he dug into the ice with a little more force than necessary, he stared out the window.

Caught up in his thoughts, he didn’t hear anyone behind him until someone asked, “Would you mind filling one for me while you’re at it?”

As the velvety voice made its way up his spine, Brantley tightened his fingers around the scoop. He knew without looking who that voice belonged to, but that didn’t stop him from slowly pivoting toward the man who was now seated on the opposite side of the counter. Daniel’s arms were casually resting on the marble, and Brantley ordered himself not to reach out and touch him.

“Sure,” he managed, and he was pretty damn proud of himself when he grabbed a second cup and his hand didn’t shake.

“I see you got my note,” Daniel said.

When Brantley locked gazes with him, he forced himself to swallow and then speak. “I see that you got mine.”

“I did.”