“Alex clearly doesn’t get his sportsmanship from his father,” Abe quipped. “Kiss my ass, Beecham,” I said softly in deference to the kids around us. Abe leaned in until his hot breath ghosted over my ear. “Gladly.” I turned my head and looked at my best friend. His expression held a carnal promise that made me swallow hard. If I gave him the word, Abe would take me home, yank down my pants, and bury his face between my ass cheeks. I could practically feel his hot breath against my quivering pucker. His tongue would swirl and tease the rim before pushing in. Lust gripped my balls and squeezed. God, I wanted him so bad. “Now I really need to hear this story,” Russ quipped, jerking me back to reality and saving me from breaking my own heart. I blinked away the fantasy, and Abe’s lips curled into a proud, wolfish smile. Unaware of the tension arcing between Abe and me, Russ continued chatting. “I knew you and Beecham went way back, Lio, but it sounds like there’s more to it than I realized.” Few people knew the full story because I was stingy when it came to Abe. Our relationship had been fueled by variations of hate and love for three decades, but there had never been a right time to explore whether those feelings could develop into something more profound. My heart wanted to say until now, but my brain knew better than to get my hopes up. Abe and I had both drawn lines in the sand, and neither showed signs of relenting.