“You’re not what I expected,” Ian admitted.

Carter smiled. “I didn’t know what to expect, but I gotta say, I like Alec’s taste.”

Ian ignored the lick of heat that went up his spine, and instead focused on the professional interpretation of Carter’s words.

“He’s a good man. He’ll make smart choices for you, fight for you. I’m glad you signed with him.” And that was the other problem, wasn’t it? Ian was wired to give a shit about his clients. To want them to succeed—though not necessarily to just plain fucking want them—and he already was invested in Carter’s future success. Not necessarily his sobriety, but he wanted him to be happy. Well-adjusted. To find the balance he clearly needed in his life.

Carter leaned against the counter. “Yeah. I hope so. You want something to eat? Dinner?”

Ian realized with a surprised glance at his watch that it was past dinner time. He’d been so absorbed in Carter that he hadn’t even noticed himself get hungry.

“You cook?” Ian asked, before he could snatch the question back.

“No, not really,” Carter admitted. “But a personal chef delivers ready-to-eat meals once a week, so I’ve got some of those. And on nights I’m not into those, even though I’m pretty much out of every delivery zone, they’ll make an exception if I ask real, real nice.”

Ian raised an eyebrow. “You just ask and they’ll deliver all the way out here?”

“I’m not sleeping with the pizza delivery guy,” Carter said with an eye roll. “I promise.”

“I’m not asking you if you’re sleeping with him,” Ian retorted, even though yeah, he’d wondered. Because once Carter turned that sweet, warm, interested gaze on someone, he had a feeling it was hard to turn him down.

Whatever he wanted, you wanted.

“Yeah, you were, and it’s alright. I know it’s rule one, and that’s why you’re so interested in my sleeping habits,” Carter teased.

“Or no-sleeping habits,” Ian said before he could stop himself.

“True.” Carter grinned. “Trust me, if I got you into bed, there wouldn’t be much sleeping.”

“That’s not happening,” Ian said automatically.

But he could already imagine it.

Could practically taste the sweet saltiness of Carter’s skin as he dug his teeth into his shoulder, bracing himself for the inevitable onslaught of pleasure Carter could give a man.

Ian had watched videos of him dancing in the end zone, celebrations after touchdowns, and the man’s hips were so fluid, he’d fuck like an absolute maniac. He’d make Ian moan louder than he ever had before. He might even make him scream.

But you’re never gonna get a chance to find out.

“So, what did you want?” Carter leaned in and leered a little.

And oh God, did Ian want.

“For dinner, man,” Carter teased with another one of those irresistible looks. “Just for a sec, it looked like you really wanted something else.”