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.
Lucas’ soft, serious call pulled Connor from his musing.
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.