He chuckled. At least Evan could make a joke at a time like this. “I think I’ll be safe.” He walked with Evan onto the porch. He could see them together on this very porch, swinging, talking, kissing…growing old together. Shit. He’d put the cart way before the horse. “Good night.”
“See you.”
Mick left the porch before he turned back and kissed Evan. If he kissed him, he’d never leave. He had to work in the morning and there were arrangements to check. He forced himself to climb behind the wheel of his car. He looked over his shoulder once before he backed up.
Evan stood on the porch. In the glow of the porch light, he looked so lonely. He waved.
Mick waved and drove away. Evan had a magnetism about him. He could be sweet, despite his streak of selfishness. He’d never heard Evan sing, but he could imagine Evan would be electrifying on stage. Maybe he wasn’t a great vocalist. Maybe he was.
Mick drove home and tried to push Evan from his mind. Once back at his townhome, he parked in his garage and locked up. He forced himself through a shower, then tumbled into bed nude. Evan consumed his thoughts. He missed having friends and wanted a relationship, even if platonic, with him. The electricity between them wasn’t imaginary. Couldn’t be. He wanted to kiss Evan. No, he needed to. Now.
Shit.
* * * *
Mick woke to streams of sunlight across his floor. His cock tented beneath the sheets. Fuck. He’d need a cold shower to get rid of his erection. He checked the clock. He’d overslept his alarm. Double fuck. He raced out of bed and into the bathroom. The cold water in the shower stung his chest but did little to deflate his cock and. He’d rather rub one off, but he had no time. He dried and dressed, then fixed his hair.
He drove to the office and prayed someone had made coffee. He needed java right now. He strode into his miniscule space.
Bud, one of the other lawyers, followed Mick. “You look rough.” He offered Mick a cup. “Bad night?”
“I feel rough.” He accepted the brew. The smell curled in his nose and woke him up. He’d need more caffeine, but this would work for now. “Thanks.” He sipped the java, thrilled for the wake-up.
“You didn’t come in early.” Bud leaned against the doorframe. “Did you meet a guy? Or just have a tough night?”
“Martha Conley passed away yesterday.” He sank onto his desk. “The cancer finally won.”
“I’m sorry.” Bud frowned. “Isn’t Evan Conley her grandson?”
“Yes.” He wanted to ask why it mattered to Bud, but sipped his coffee instead.
“Is he going to come home?”
“He’s already here,” Mick said. “Got in before she passed and was with her when she died.”
“He’s quitting his career?” Bud flexed his fingers around his cup.
“Is that a question?” Mick hated when Bud did this—he’d ask a question while knowing the answer, yet act ignorant. Only Bud could be so half-assed.
“Yeah. He’s never been real famous. He had a hit a few years ago and got on the charts a couple times, but only two songs. The rest just don’t work.” Bud held the cup in both hands. “He needed to get away from the twangy shit. Country music isn’t twang.”
“Do you know country music?” He hadn’t pegged Bud as a fan. Hell, he doubted Bud knew anything about the genre other than that Evan had been part of it. “Country music has lots of twang. If that’s how Evan interpreted it, then that’s on him. He’s being true to himself. Not every musician wants to sound the same or like they’ve been digitally enhanced.”
“I enjoy what’s out now. The twang stuff is old. No one wants steel guitars and that yodel shit.” Bud laughed. “But he’ll get a dose of reality. Cedarwood likes its baseball players—not has-been musicians.”
“Aren’t you a beacon of positivity?” He groaned. “Evan Conley just lost his grandmother and you’re being a jerk. You should have some sympathy.”
“He drinks. Did you know that?” Bud snapped.
“So? I enjoy a beer from time to time.” He hadn’t drunk in almost a year, but still, he liked a good hard cider.
“He’s rumored to have a drinking problem.”
“Rumored. You don’t know for sure.” He hated when people spread innuendo about other people. Either own what’s being said or don’t say anything at all.
“I guess not.” Bud clicked his tongue. “Do you know the truth? I heard he’s gay, too. That might also be why he’s not famous. No one wants to listen to a gay singer.”
“Tell that to all those people in the music business who are gay. Lots of people are homosexual and make damn good music.”
“I guess.” Bud shrugged.
“You’re awful. The man just lost his grandmother and you’re making cracks about him. He’s on his own. Be nice.” He put the cup down. He’d rather have coffee he’d poured himself. “I need to call the funeral home.”
“Why? It’s his job.”
“Martha stated in her will that I should help Evan. I’m doing my job,” Mick said. “She knew he’d be overwhelmed and would want assistance.”
“He should be able to handle this. It’s not that hard.”
“So says the man who hasn’t had to deal with the death of anyone in his family,” Mick said. “Be nice. If you were in Evan’s shoes, you might think twice about what you’re saying.”
“I have been. My grandparents died when I was a kid,” Bud snapped. “I’ve been in his place.”
“It’s not easy.” Bud had no idea.
“I know that. I’ve helped many of our clients,” Bud said. “Big deal. If she did the preplanning, then the rest should be easy.”
“If you’re grieving, it’s hard. There are a lot of decisions and even with preplanning, it can get overwhelming.” He left his desk. “I should call Kubach.”
“Yeah.” Bud remained in the doorway. “It’s funny. I’ve never seen you get this concerned about your other clients. You don’t worry
