Melting Point | Chapter 5 of 23 - Part: 1 of 2

Author: Kate Meader | Submitted by: Maria Garcia | 1081 Views | Add a Review

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chapter two

GAGE HAD KNOWN Brady would be here, but knowing didn’t prepare him for how his chest muscles locked up like he needed a tetanus shot. Three weeks ago, Darcy had asked if it was okay to invite the surly chef—“I won’t if it would hurt you to see him”—and Gage had waved off her concerns. It wasn’t as if they had been together for a long time. Barely a month, the word together a complete mischaracterization. Like calling Velveeta real cheese. Or saying you were from Chicago when you were born, raised, and would likely shuffle off the mortal coil in bumblefuck Lombard.

His brain just had to go there. Merely thinking of the shit he had to deal with out in the burbs made his palms itch and his heart jackhammer.

Not Brady Smith.

Tonight he was rocking the Bratva enforcer look to perfection. Jeans tight enough to mold his ass perfectly, a black tee that stretched taut against his powerful chest. And those tattoos? Dayum. Every time Gage saw his ink—the Scoville heat scale for peppers on his left arm, the colorful sleeve of bird feathers on his right, that smoke curl tat at the base of his close-cropped skull—heated tingles tripped across his skin.

At least Brady would keep his distance. He’d played it so chill between them before that there was no good reason why tonight would be any diff—shit. Here he comes. Good thing Gage had this block of wood hiding his . . . block of wood.

“Hey,” Brady said.

“Hey, yourself.”

Brady picked up the special cocktail menu Gage had designed and studied it like it was a complicated contract where the sale of his soul was up for negotiation.

“Hear the Cock-Sucking Cowboy’s a winner.”

“Sorry, all out.”

Brady put the menu down with an expelled breath, all resources for making small talk apparently exhausted. The angry scar tissue on the right side of his face, the zigzags Gage had dreamed of stroking and kissing, drew tight in a frown.

“We’re probably not going to run into each other much,” Brady said with a sidelong look at Darcy, their common denominator. “But when we do, I’d hope we could be—”

“Friends?”

“Friendly.”

For real? Brady wanted him to be friendly about the fact Gage had chased him for six weeks and, when he finally caught him, when he told Brady he’d be fine with taking it slow and making sure he was coloring inside the lines with all Brady’s fucking rules, the big chef still freaked out. Because Gage pushed for a date.

Leaning his elbows on the bar, he drew close enough to see those gold circles, like dying embers, around Brady’s irises. He had once thought his espresso-colored eyes were plain, emotionless, but that was all wrong. Those eyes, fringed with thick, velvety lashes, were barely contained weather systems that could turn heated and frigid by turns. To cap it all off, the man had to go and smell good with it. Maybe it was the spices from the kitchen at Smith & Jones combined with pheromones. Whatever it was, Brady had it going on.

Gage dialed up smile number four in his arsenal—killer cool, but friendly with it. “Like you said, we probably won’t be running into each other. You’re more likely to come across me on one of those dumb billboards.”

Two spots of color lit high on Brady’s cheekbones. Was that a blush? Ah, hell. Just when Gage thought the guy had struck the hard limit of ways to turn him on.

“Well, uh, it was good to see you.” The words ran together in Brady’s Louisiana accent, a heady brew of warm syrup and bayou heat.

“Likewise, Chef.”

Brady stalked off to play strong ’n’ silent to Darcy’s chatterbox while Gage spent five seconds too long admiring that Southern-fried ass. Someone bumped against his hip. Gage turned to find his sister Alex doing the are-you-okay blink with those big green eyes of hers.

“I know you’re wearing that dumb hat because it makes cock-sucking cowboy sound even more filthy.”

“Every master needs his props.” Laughing off his bad humor, he threw an arm around his closest sib. With her chocolate curls and cat’s eyes, she was easily the most stunning woman he knew, but her temper frequently landed her in trouble and had potential suitors clutching their balls. To add flavor to her already-complicated-life soup, she’d had a hard time of it lately after a video of her slicing and dicing a VIP citizen’s car during a rescue run went viral.

She sighed and settled in the crook of his shoulder. “Thinking that going lesbionic might be the next logical step.”

“Nah, society has too hard a time believing in lesbian sex. How does it work? Who plays the man? Do they both wear strap-ons?” He held her tight while her shoulders shook with laughter. “Worry not, fair sister o’ mine. One day you’ll find a prince you can crush underfoot.”

Comments

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Alice
Great book, nicely written and thank you BooksVooks for uploading

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