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duty. And Brody’s shift was over, so if Lark didn’t track him down soon, Brody was likely to slip out the door again right under his nose.
    He was frustratingly good at that. And with the busy Saturday night trade done for the week, it only left tonight and tomorrow to figure something out. Otherwise, another three whole days would pass before Lark could get a chance to corner him about this. And Lark couldn’t stand the thought of waiting that long.
    Unfortunately, even after tackling Brody, he’d still have to work on Zak—which was going to be a completely different battle altogether. Lark knew Zak was attracted to Brody every bit as much as he was. The man could hardly keep his eyes off the luscious, sex-on-a-stick dishwasher. Zak just refused to admit it. And every time Lark had tried to talk about Brody, Zak had changed the subject or found something urgent that needed doing somewhere else. Infuriating man!
    It was quite astonishing, really, to think of Zak—the normally staid and sensible man he loved—being as taken with Brody as he was. Zak wasn’t the sort to have a roving eye. It wasn’t in his makeup. Lark, on the other hand, took every opportunity he could get to appreciate a fine looking man.
    In fact, he thought that Zak’s inability to stop looking at Brody was a good sign that this was something that was meant to be. They were meant to explore this unexpected situation.
    Lark was a bit vague on the whole coincidence versus destiny thing, but he did know that this felt right.
    So he was going for it.
    Lark made his way to the office and breathed a sigh of relief when he caught sight of Brody. Thank goodness. The man he’d set his sights on hadn’t somehow managed to give him the slip.
    Actually, it was more a stifled moan of appreciation than a sigh of relief. Lark watched Brody, who stood by the small row of lockers along the office’s far wall. Head bent, hands on his hips, looking down at his feet, he was stunning. Like one of those hunky men they posed shirtless in the cowboy calendars.
    All he needed was the battered hat tilted casually over his eyes and the boots. Oh! And one of those coy smiles Lark always found himself drooling over. Actually, Brody would look amazing wearing one of those smiles—and nothing else.
    Brody dropped to one knee to fiddle with his laces. Lark couldn’t help but imagine what else the man might be able to accomplish in that position.
    Brody was absolutely exhausted. Every muscle ached; and if he never saw another soap bubble or dirty pan again, he’d be a very happy man. Unfortunately, he would have to come back and do it all again tomorrow.
    Paycheque, Brody. Paycheque, he reminded himself sternly, hating the fact he was whining about being stiff and sore when only a couple of weeks ago he’d been desperate enough to start thinking about Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    turning tricks in some dark alley somewhere just to keep a roof over their heads.
    Looking down, he noticed that one of his bootlaces had come undone. For a second, he considered leaving it. It really did seem like too much effort to bend down and retie it at the moment. But on second thought, the last thing he needed was to trip over it and break something. It would be hard to earn a paycheque with a broken arm, especially since he spent most of his shift elbows-deep in hot water.
    Groaning, he dropped down and started working on the ratty laces. After he finished, he took a few extra seconds to try and find enough energy and enthusiasm to stand back up again.
    “Are you okay?” Lark asked from the doorway, startling Brody enough that he bounced right back up to stand—and banged his arm painfully on his open locker door.
    Ah, shit! That hurt!
    He’d nearly done himself exactly the sort of serious injury he’d been trying to avoid. Fucking shoelaces.
    Jumping up like that was a stupid thing to do, but Brody really wanted to hide his