The Last FavorBy: Meg Harding
Three years ago Andrew Wilson and Flynn Barnett were in a relationship, until Flynn made a mistake that nearly cost Andrew his life. Andrew walked away from the FBI, his home, and his partner, and started over back in Montreal, running a restaurant.
Fast forward to the present and Andrew is knee-deep in preparations for his sister’s wedding. When an ex-colleague calls to ask for one last favor, the last person he expects to walk through his door is Flynn, in need of a place to stay. Only thing is, Andrew can’t say no.
Two weeks of wedding hijinks bring back all the old feelings that have simmered below the surface. Caught in a cycle of fighting and making up, the two men try to figure out if there’s anything they can salvage. And even if there is, Andrew can’t be sure this time will be any different.
To Dawn: You know you’re the best.
HE DOESN’T know why he had agreed to go out drinking with the guys from work. Stick a bunch of FBI agents in one place and nothing good ever came of it. They’re loud, some of them are very repressed, and they’re all running on less than three hours of sleep. Andy feels like banging his head into the table. He is not drunk enough to make these morons entertaining. But they just solved a case. A big drug bust. That calls for celebrating. Lots and lots of celebrating.
Clint slings his arm over Andy’s shoulder and hauls him toward him. Andy’s beer sloshes over the rim.
Clint smacks a kiss to his cheek. It’s wet and gross. Andy wrinkles his nose and tries to pull away.
“You were brilliant tonight. Absolutely brilliant.” Clint is going to need someone to carry him home by the end of the night.
Andy tries to take Clint’s drink away. “So were you,” he says. “But maybe it’s time you laid off on the booze, yeah? So you can be brilliant tomorrow too. How about that?”
Clint’s face scrunches up like Andy’s speaking another language. He doesn’t let go of his tumbler. “I want to drink now,” he says, and it’s a distinctive whine. “Don’t try to boss me around. You’re not my mother.”
And he’s out. Andy wiggles away from Clint. It’s imperative he get himself another drink.
The bar isn’t too busy, so he manages to get the bartender’s attention without too much fuss. “Another of these,” he says and nods down at the beer in his hand. He’ll finish it while he waits for the new one.
Away from the guys, he takes a minute to actually look around the room. His gaze flits from person to person, noting little things like whether they’re right- or left-handed, if they’ve had a little too much to drink, if they’re trying to pick someone up. It isn’t till he takes a look at the other end of the bar that his gaze becomes fixed.
There’s a guy sitting by himself at the end. An absolutely gorgeous specimen of a man. His skin is pale under the bar lights, his hair dark and curling around his sharp face. There’s something about him that Andy can’t let go of. Can’t look away from.
Rodger, one of the forensic techs on the team for this bust, comes up and wraps his arms around him from behind. “Andy,” he says. “Andy.”
Andy tears his gaze away from the man and pats Rodger’s arm. “Rodger.”
Rodger bumps his head against Andy’s shoulder. “Clint sent me over.” He rolls his head to the side. “Were you staring at that guy?”
“He thought so. He’s got a bet for you. Says if you win, he’ll stop drinking and give you a fifty.”
Andy pries him loose and turns around. “Keep talking.”
“If you can pick him up with a cheesy line and tell him you’re a pilot, you win. If you can’t, then Clint gets to stay at your house for the night.”
It’s a dumbass bet. But Andy’s bored, and the guy’s hot, so why not? “All right,” he says. “You go tell Clint he’s got a deal.”
When his drink comes, he takes it over to the man, sidles up next to him. He’s even prettier up close. His features are sharp, his eyes bright and intelligent as they flick toward him and then back to the bowl of peanuts in front of him. He doesn’t have a drink. Andy slides his beer over.