Kind of like a drug dealer. Flynn pictured one of those cheesy tabloid-style paperback book covers in his head. Love Dealer.With the tagline: “He was Mr. Feel Good. But instead of dope, he dealt love…”
Flynn shook his head to clear it of the image. He started up the walk toward Mac, who looked very good indeed in faded, torn jeans and an olive-green T-shirt that seemed to intensify not only the red of his hair and beard, but also brought out the shimmering emerald of his eyes. Flynn caught and held Mac’s gaze for long seconds, knowing he was sending a more eloquent message than words could ever achieve.
Mac smiled and was the one to look away first.
“So, uh, dog park?”
“Dog park. Let this puppy roam free.”
“My car’s right this way.” Flynn turned to start back toward the car, wishing he could take Mac’s hand. And then an idea popped into his head, one he immediately judged as trying to make this outing more like a date, but so what?