Connor watched Wesley go, barely
listening to what his friend was saying. He noticed the tightness of
Wesley’s shoulders, the strain in his step. Just as he had noticed
the discomfort darkening Wesley’s features during the conversation.
Had it been in relation to himself or to the discussion itself,
Connor wasn’t sure. His excitement spurred; that was something he
would have loved to know.
“Connor.”
Lucas’ soft, serious call pulled Connor
from his musing.
“I’m sorry?”
Connor glanced at the door through where
Wesley had retired, before looking back pointedly at his friend.
“What can you tell me about him?”
Lucas held Connor’s eyes, the silence
between them stretching. Eventually, he shook his head, sorrow
darkening his features.
“It’s not a good idea.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Connor offered him a grin, with a confidence he didn’t really feel.
“Sure you don’t.” Lucas’
expression did not waiver. “He’s strictly a top. And a good one
at that.”
Somehow, Connor didn’t doubt it.
Perhaps Wesley was a bit uptight, but that didn’t make him any less
skilled.
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