You know, that moment when you take the new squeeze out and all your friends come to inspect the goods? And there’s always that one friend that feels that they have to make sure of the new squeeze’s intentions, like it was the 1850’s and you’re some virginal young thing without a brain cell to call your own?
“So, Ben, what do you do for a living?” Hunter leaned out to flag down a waitress, then brought his eyes back to Ben.
“Hunter,” Ross said in a warning tone.
Ben patted the hand still on his arm to let Ross know it was okay. “I’m a cop.”
“A cop. That’s interesting. Bet it’s a pretty exciting job.” Hunter twitched, shot Ross a funny look, then grinned back at Ben, who shrugged.
“Oh, do tell,” Hunter crooned with a flirtatious wink. Ben hid behind his glass of coke to camoflage the grin trying to escape because the look on Ross’ face was priceless. Damn, he’s cute. And obviously mortified by Hunter’s behavior. The look he shot Hunter would have withered a five year veteran of the force.
Hunter, it appeared, was made of tougher stuff than that. “Do you ever have to wrestle anyone to the ground and, like, hold them there?”
Yep, totally appalled.