Page 19 of Keep

“I’m being hospitable.” Ricky pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I offered him a beverage.”

“You did not.”

“I was about to.”

Chad rolled his eyes and grabbed his keys from a hook by the door. “Ignore everything he said. He’s constitutionally incapable of normal human interaction.”

“That’s not true.” Ricky’s voice dropped slightly as he looked at Hank again. “I’m very capable when it matters.”

The playfulness drained from his face—less theatrical, more assessing. The message was clear: Don’t mess this up.

“I’ll take good care of him,” Hank said quietly.

Ricky studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “Good. Because if you don’t, I know people.”

“He doesn’t know people,” Chad said, pulling Hank toward the door.

“I know some people.”

“You know your mother and your priest.”

“Both of whom are terrifying.” Ricky waved them off. “Go. Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“That leaves a lot of options,” Chad muttered, and Hank caught the flash of Ricky’s delighted grin before the door closed behind them.

“You dressed down a little,” Chad said as Hank opened the car door for him—passenger side. “I like it.”

“Per your observation, I felt it was necessary.” Hank closed the door and circled around to the driver’s side.

When he slid behind the wheel, Chad was studying him with an expression that made Hank’s pulse quicken.

“And look at all that gorgeous hair you were hiding from me with that cap.” Chad reached over and ran his fingers through the hair at Hank’s temple. “Most people use caps to hide a lack of hair.”

“I’ve never had that problem.” The touch was casual, unhesitating, and it made Hank’s breath catch.

“You should show it off more. The gray is sexy.”

Hank started the car, letting the engine warm up. “Where am I going?”

“Head toward campus. The Corcoran. Just a few blocks—you can take 23rd Street.”

As Hank navigated the familiar streets, he was acutely aware of Chad’s presence beside him. The way Chad shifted in his seat, crossing one ankle over the other. The way his fingers tapped lightly on his thigh.

Every neuron in Hank’s body was firing at once, all of them screaming the same thing: Reach over. Touch him. Take his hand.

His hands stayed locked on the steering wheel at ten and two.

Because they were in public. In a car with windows. Driving through Foggy Bottom on a Thursday evening when the streets were busy with commuters and students who might glance into a passing vehicle and see⁠—

See what? Two men sitting in a car?

But it wasn’t just two men. It was Senator Henry Fortner and a twenty-three-year-old art student he’d met three days ago. It was everything he’d spent forty years hiding, sitting in the passenger seat smelling like citrus and looking at him like he was something worth wanting.

“You okay?” Chad asked. “You’re gripping the wheel pretty tight.”

Hank forced his fingers to relax. “I’m adjusting. It’s been a long time since I’ve done this.”

“Dating?”