Just as Zack’s panic was approaching critical mass, John came around the opposite corner and stood in front of the bar. He checked his watch and then slid his hands into his pockets. He was settling in to wait for Zack, just as he’d done outside Murmur Inc.

Zack’s mouth went dry.

John looked resplendent. His suit looked like it had been designed with him in mind. Not just the cut of it, though Zack could wax poetic about the way it lengthened his legs and broadened his shoulders. The style and color were perfect. It was a silky, charcoal gray, and John had paired it with a lavender dress shirt that made his eyes pop even from across the street.

He looked like a model. Zack felt woefully underdressed.

Just as he was considering ducking out of sight, John spotted him and waved. Shit. Zack had no choice but to jog over to him.

“Hey,” he said when he was close enough, smiling nervously.

“Hey,” John replied. “I’m so glad you came.” He beamed at Zack, flashing a row of straight, white teeth. “You look great.”

Zack scoffed but relaxed a bit. “Says the guy who looks like he walked off the pages of GQ.”

“Anyone can pull off a bespoke suit,” John said. He looked Zack over deliberately. Zack could almost feel his eyes trailing down him like a light touch. Then John grabbed a handful of Zack’s jacket, tugging him closer. “You have this bad boy image that I just can’t seem to resist. It’s intoxicating.”

Zack’s breathing hitched. They were almost touching. John stared up at him, and his eyelashes caught the light like spun gold. Fuck, even the littlest things John did were beautiful. It made this dark, primal instinct bubble up in Zack, like he wanted to pin John down and bruise his pretty lips.

Instead, Zack said, “‘Bad boy,’ huh? You’re usually more eloquent than that.”

John’s lips twitched up. “Just calling it like it is.” A lock of hair fell over his forehead, and Zack resisted the urge to brush it back. The wind shifted, and he got a whiff of soap and sandalwood.

Zack couldn’t help himself. He drank in all the details he’d missed from afar. John had creamy, spotless skin, unlike Zack, and his hair had hints of honey brown mixed in with the blond. His suit had the faintest pinstripe Zack had ever seen—only a shade or so lighter than the color of the suit itself—and the dove-gray tie contrasted just enough.

“Be honest,” Zack drawled. “Do you have a professional stylist, or are you actually this good of a dresser?”

“I may have phoned a friend and asked for advice on what I should wear.”

Zack laughed. “I did the exact same thing.”

“Remind me to send them a thank-you card.”