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conversation.”
    “Hey, you asked me to talk.” But he let it drop, and Cole didn’t bother to point out that he’d asked Brendan what was on his mind, not for an analysis of Cole’s own issues. Who wanted to discuss that? He liked his insecurities tucked away and unacknowledged, thank you very much.
    Brendan gazed a moment at the ocean. “Thanks for listening to me babble on about my stuff anyway. I’m sure I’ll figure it all out soon enough. Tell you what. How about lunch Monday? I’ll be home. I promise.”
    “Why not tomorrow?”
    “I have a hundred errands to run. Will Monday work?”
    “As long as it’s not breakfast. I plan to sleep until noon on Monday.”
    “What else is new?” Brendan splashed him playfully. “I can do noon. Say twelve fifteen? I promise to make it a nice and long lunch.”
    “Oh yeah? Mr. Uptight won’t mind your taking a long lunch?”
    “He’s not that way. You just need to get to know Ian better. He’s complicated.”
    “Whatever.” Cole stared out at the water. “It’s getting dark. We better head back.”
    The mention of Ian tied his stomach in knots, but there was no sense dwelling on it. Maybe Ian would go fat and bald in record time? Or become a boss rivaling Attila the Hun, and Brendan would quit? Cole could hope. The whole situation left Cole edgy.
    “Okay. Lunch Monday, then?” Brendan started out of the water toward River, who sat up and watched them approach. “Right?”
    “Right.”
     
     
    M ONDAY MORNING Cole didn’t wake up until past eleven, and he was soon on his third cup of coffee and still yawning, which clearly indicated he had a caffeine addiction—not that he cared. His shift had been a killer, with too many spilled drinks, complaining customers, and tiny tips. One asshole had even stiffed him. Some people didn’t understand that he lived on his tips more than his meager paycheck. Cole would have to ask Paula for more work or risk coming up short this month. He hated always worrying about money and bills, but he was also used to it.
    “There are worse things,” he murmured.
    He held his sore back with one hand as he wandered out to the tiny porch to examine the sky. After serving drinks all night, he often felt a twinge of pain. Despite his trips to the gym with his housemates, Cole remained a bit too thin, although he did well enough with guys, who liked his combination of light gray eyes and dark hair.
    What was Ian’s type? Was it Brendan? Cole winced. Fuck. Where had that random thought come from? He should want Ian to like Brendan. Hell, if he were a true friend, he’d advise Brendan to go for it. Yet he never did that. Cole shook his head. He needed to be a better person and stop secretly longing for what his best friend also wanted. Okay, Ian interested him. He was curious about who Ian was underneath that polished exterior. But he could never admit those feelings, so it hardly mattered.
    Unless Brendan met somebody else.
    Like who? Sandy? Cole snorted. No, Ian was right there in front of Brendan, working with him, consulting with him. And, God, Brendan so deserved a good guy, somebody like Ian who would be loyal, tough, resilient, and smart. The whole package, as far as Cole could see. Who had a big future and could talk with Brendan about the law and—
    Fuck, he was getting himself depressed.
    Cole turned to write his thoughts down—a way to get them out and not hurt anybody. He wrote in the kitchen on a spare notebook, admitting all the intense feelings he was experiencing and allowing himself to indulge in thoughts about Ian for a few moments. Then he ripped it up and threw it away.
    Before this house, before his friendship with Brendan in particular, Cole had been a loner. Oh, he’d had friends drift in and out of his life, but he’d never counted on them.
    Thinking about the other day, Cole realized it was now past twelve and Brendan hadn’t come home for lunch as he’d promised. It suddenly struck Cole how wrong it