Stacy pulled up in front of a small diner and killed the engine.
Colin actually felt a flicker of excitement at the thought of having lunch somewhere so close to the waterfront that the beach sand seemed to creep right onto the parking lot and tiny deck. The town definitely had its charm—and who knew, maybe it really would let him unwind after everything that had driven him to leave?
Maybe it would have—if not for that dark-haired guy who'd been haunting his thoughts and body just a little too much.
A man so beautiful it was hard not to stare.
And maybe… more dangerous than Colin had realized.
Stone remembered the scene at the bar—Brad's fingers wrapped around that biker's throat. That had been—
No. No, no, no. He shook his head. Don't think about Lipski. He's not your guy. You don't want to get tangled up in his drama.
Didn't he?
Damn it. He shouldn't want to—but…
The afternoon sun, lower now than it would've been in summer, streamed through the windshield. He squinted to see better—and then he froze. For a second he thought he was imagining things. He blinked, but no—it was real. Brad was standing by the wall, another man right in front of him.
Something tightened in Colin's throat. His heart slammed too hard against his ribs.
That guy was way too close to Lipski—practically breathing the same air.
But…
Wait. What—what was he seeing? Why was Brad…?
The sight was so startling he couldn't make sense of it. It looked intimate, too intimate for two random men. But Brad wasn't—
He wasn't gay, right?
Ba bum. Ba bum. Ba bum.
Colin got out of the car automatically, his eyes still locked on them. Brad noticed and stepped back from the other man. He did it abruptly, like someone cutting off unwanted attention.
But a moment earlier, he hadn't looked unwilling. If anything, he'd looked… interested.
Stone couldn't process what he was seeing, but his chest felt tight, his breath uneven, his face warm. He looked away, as if he'd just witnessed something he shouldn't have. Brad Lipski walked into the diner, followed by the other man, who threw them a quick glance on his way in.
"Oh, hell," Stacy muttered—and it sounded so odd coming from her that Colin turned to look at her in surprise.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Bikers." She nodded toward the motorcycles parked across the street.
Stone looked too—and instantly remembered their late-night encounter. A shiver ran down his spine. Should he be worried? With Stacy, and with the general reputation of motorcycle gangs, caution seemed wise—but still…
"They've got to eat too, right?" he said. "What surprises me more is seeing Brad here. And—I might've seen it wrong—but I swear he was wearing an apron."
"He didn't tell you? He's working at Aunt Sally's now. It's the only place that would hire him."
"The only place?" Colin raised a brow. Instantly, Anders's face flashed in his mind—those eyes when he'd talked about the Lipskis. Then that tension outside the store, the grim people standing around, waiting for something to happen.
What the hell was going on in White Shore?
And were the Lipskis right in the middle of it?
He felt his body tensing on instinct—ready for a fight or to bolt—but he couldn't quite decide which. And if it came to a fight… whose side would he even be on?
Brad's face appeared again in his mind, his body, his mouth. Colin bit his lower lip.
You promised yourself you wouldn't get involved, he scolded silently. So don't. Brad's hot, and yeah, you need a guy—but that doesn't mean you need this guy. Just let it go. Whatever's happening here, it's not your business. You're a doctor—stay neutral.
But for some reason, he couldn't.
"This has something to do with Anders, doesn't it? And his son?"
"Yeah, but it's better if Brad tells you himself. It's his private business and—"
"I get it. Let's drop it. I'm starving, and I swear I can already smell the fish from here."
Exactly. Focus on your own stuff. Like that empty stomach of yours.
He'd skipped breakfast and was starving—but honestly, he wasn't sure he'd be able to eat. The image of Brad standing so close to that other man refused to leave his head. It was infuriating. He shouldn't care who Brad Lipski was—or wasn't—seeing.
Right. He really shouldn't.
They stepped into the diner, the air thick with the smell of fries and fried fish.
Maybe not the healthiest meal in the world, but one thing was certain—you didn't leave hungry.
Three tables were taken by men in leather jackets, bandanas tied around their heads, tattoos running down their arms—clearly the owners of the bikes parked outside. They were laughing and talking loudly, eating and drinking beer, but they kept it decent.
Well, everyone needed to eat lunch.
Colin and Stacy sat down at the second-to-last empty table.
"What can I get you?" Brad appeared instantly at their side. "I recommend our specialty—fish and chips."
"Does Aunt Sally serve anything else?"
"Oh, sure," he said. "Chips and fish. But let's not be too picky. So, two fish and chips—and to drink?"
Lipski's eyes shifted from Stacy to Stone, and Colin could've sworn they widened in surprise.
"Doc? That beard!"
Those words—and the admiring tone behind them—caught Stone off guard. He flushed slightly and rubbed his jaw. For a moment he wanted to ask Brad if he liked it, but quickly scolded himself. He hadn't shave it for him.
"You look great!" Brad said warmly, admiration clear in his eyes.
Colin cleared his throat. Why the hell did his mouth feel so dry all of a sudden?
"Don't exaggerate," he muttered.
"I'm not," Brad assured him, flashing that soft smile. "You really do look amazing."
Colin looked away. He couldn't take those bright, admiring eyes. Under that gaze, his body reacted far too strongly. Damn it—it was just a look, just a compliment, and yet…
Some compliments, when spoken by certain mouths, just sounded especially good.
Stacy cleared her throat.
"Just water for me," she said.
"And for you, Doc?"
"Do you have orange juice?"
"I'll squeeze some fresh for you," Brad replied.
Colin instantly pictured those strong hands pressing halves of oranges, juice dripping down his fingers into a glass…
Damn. All he could do was smile awkwardly.
Lipski smiled back—and suddenly the room tilted a little.
Oh my God, Stone thought. Does any of this make sense? Any of it at all?
It did—but he refused to let that thought in. He pushed it away so hard that if it were a wrestling match, the thought would've just used some sneaky move and pinned him flat to the mat.
Honestly, he already felt almost defenseless.
Maybe he should take Anders up on his offer and stay at his place?
The idea made his stomach twist. He couldn't stand people like Anders. People like him were exactly the reason he'd had to leave. But Anders had no power over him. And never would.
"Are you feeling okay, Dr. Stone? You look… distracted," Stacy noted.
"I'm fine. Just trying to get used to this town."
Instinctively, he glanced toward the bikers. Looked like they were finishing up their meal.
Stacy blushed, keeping her gaze carefully averted.
"Los Angeles has its own… kind of color too, I suppose," she said shyly.
"Oh, definitely," he agreed. "I just didn't expect to see that kind of color here in White Shore."
Stacy smiled.
"Even here we've got young people who can't—or won't—fit in. So they make their own subculture."
"Guess so," he nodded.
The bikers were getting up. Chairs scraped against the floor.
Stone spotted the one he'd seen standing so close to Brad earlier—tall, solid build, handsome… definitely attractive.
The guy caught Colin's gaze, smiled like a cat that had just licked all the cream, and gave him a small nod.
Did he… know him?
Confused, Stone returned the nod.
The man's smile widened.
Colin didn't like that smile. Not one bit.