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Adam sat alone in the leather booth. His elbows braced against his knees and his thumb flicking over the scrolling phone screen. The lights were out in the bar and a thin, pale glow, stark and white burned from the screen. A bottle of whiskey rested by his left heel. The light brought into contrast the trimmed stubble on his cheeks and the circles under his eyes. Matt’s grip on the door handle tightened. An almost bruising grip as he pressed his fingertips into the cold and ungiving metal. Through the glass, he watched Adam like a strange voyeur. A ring crew guy, in a black t-shirt, floated by in the hallway, shouting at his buddy about cables. Dynamite was over, the guys were packing up and preparing to head home. Matt’s phone, wedged in his back pocket, vibrated and he’d bet money it was a text from Nick or Tony. He swallowed, ignoring the message as he wrenched open the sliding door and the run of the wheels on the tracks lifted Adam’s head.
Their eyes met and Matt’s jaw snapped shut so tight he’d thought he had chipped his teeth. The tip of Adam’s tongue darted between his lips and his throat bobbed as he swallowed, hard. The curve of his cupid’s bow fascinated Matt and so did his gold curls, piled on his broad shoulders. He wore a light purple t-shirt, “ SHoW PONY, ” in red and white, stretched tight across his chest. It had a graphic of a cowboy hat. Matt didn’t get it but it was so Adam that it made his chest ache. While Matt stood there, hovering in the doorway, Adam’s thumb pressed the power button on his phone. The screen turned off and the room fell a little darker. The hall light was softer, a little gentler in how it framed the angles of Adam’s features.
“Hey,” Matt breathed.
His hand fell clear of the door, flopping to his side like a dejected dead fish. Matt scraped his nails along the seam of his jeans. He tried a small smile, some kinda reassurance that he came in peace. There were ten million things he thought of saying to Adam on his walk over here. Somehow, not a single one of them came to mind as he stared at the other man. And that was the thing about it because Adam was a man now.
Not the tall, lanky kid in Ring of Honor challenging Matt Hardy for the first time almost a decade ago. ‘PAAP’ they called him in the locker room, Pretty Ass Adam Page, with his cute gold curls and smile like sunshine. He was polite and energetic, just a spitting distance out of college. Even back then Nick had nudged Matt’s elbow and told him, “That kid’s going places.” Matt had agreed with a blithe, callous nod, and gone back to calling strategy for their match that night. Looking back, Matt wished he had appreciated Adam more back then because it was like Matt blinked and that kid was gone. He showed up back in Matt's life a little more filled-out, with a stronger jaw, and darkness clouding his green eyes.
And then he was the ‘ Hangman’ as Matt tugged him from B.J. Whitmer, and towards the Bullet Club. Because Whitmer didn’t deserve a talent like Adam Page. Whitmer was holding Page back, not growing him to his full potential. No, Matt wanted him, because he was strong, because he didn’t belong languishing on the bottom side of the Ring of Honor card. And now he was Adam, sitting alone in the bar of Daily’s Place, staring at Matt. Bigger and older, rough around the edges, and with a win on Matt Hardy as of last week. Floating around somewhere in the rankings by now. Which was such a problem that Matt couldn’t even begin to comprehend the inevitability of it. He was standing on a hill, watching two trains chug towards each other in real-time and he couldn’t even imagine the carnage when neither hit the brakes.
This was supposed to be fun.
It hadn’t been for a long time.
Adam tossed his phone to his other hand and then onto the seat next to him. He turned back to Matt and clasped his hands, fingers interlacing in front of him. He was hunched-up, curled in, and yet still looking at Matt, waiting him out. Matt may have been an E.V.P. and Adam may be alone without his army of brand new friends, but somehow Matt knew this wasn’t his room. He wasn’t in the locker room he shared with Nick and S.C.U., and Brandon wasn’t around to film this event. It was just him, and Adam, standing on Adam’s little staked-out piece of land. It was all territorial posturing and Matt wondered if he should ask permission before he stepped inside.
In the end, he didn’t. Matt turned and pushed closed the glass door. It closed with a final ‘click’ as the latch caught. Matt pressed his hands into his jean pockets and wandered a couple of feet in the room. He looked over all the décor as if it was his first time seeing this bar in this particular venue. It wasn’t, because by now Daily’s Place was like a second home or purgatory, he couldn’t tell. The new table still hadn’t come in since the Dark Order broke the first one. A thought so amusing that it curled the corner of Matt’s lips.
“So, uh, is this where you usually hang-out now?” Matt asked, he hadn’t looked back at Adam since he closed the door and he couldn’t bring himself to. So, instead, Matt eyed the glasses on the shelves and admired the paint job on the walls. In his peripheral Adam eased back in his seat, legs, and arms crossing.
“Yeah, I guess so,” Adam answered, and Matt took that as a good sign. He hadn’t been cussed out or kicked out, and Adam was kinda-sorta talking to him. “It’s— it’s not so bad.”
“No, not at all,” Matt agreed, shrugging. Not as big as the E.V.P., locker room and not nearly as private, but it had merit. A little space, kinda homely in a way, and with plenty of ambiance to enjoy the downtime at shows. “It’s actually pretty nice.”
He shouldn’t be here, Matt thought to himself. He needed to be with Matt, Nick, Kenny, and Cody. Metal sharpens metal, and there was no group sharper than the Elite. The Dark Order would never challenge Adam, never push him beyond his limits. This room was settling, not crawling and climbing higher to—
To the World Championship.
Matt swallowed again, looking at Adam. He wanted it, he wanted it so bad, Matt could see it there still in his eyes, still so hungry, starving and famished. He could also see the hurt and the flinch. Like when Matt threw that beer in his face and alcohol ran down his cheeks, staining the front of his pretty shirt. He had to remember what had made him so angry at Adam in that moment. The fury was so distant and cooled off after months of not thinking about it. Matt woke up and packed the tag-titles into his luggage, and when he was in the ring he scraped his nails over the metal. Possessed the thing he’d wanted, happy, content, and wanton like he was full.
He suddenly felt like a narcissus, falling in love with his own reflection. It wasn’t Adam’s good looks or his loyal, sweetness, as he hovered at BJ's elbow, so eager to please, or his stunning in-ring ability, that made Matt pick him back in the Ring of Honor locker room. It was the look in his eyes. He had been hungry. Hungry like Matt and Nick had been when they first wandered into wrestling as poor kids. Hungry like when they’d never held a belt, ever, and were scratching, scrabbling for every opportunity. Back then, how many times had they been New Japan or Ring of Honor tag champions? Two, three, ten million, he couldn’t count, because they’d fought for each one, that was true, but each run felt more assured, more promised. It was a little easier to rest and just wait. Adam didn’t know that confidence. Nothing was promised to him. He had everything to gain and nothing to lose.
Adam had been eating off the crumbs from the Elite’s table for a very long time.
“Matt, I—” Adam rushed his words. He ducked his head and wrung his own hands as if he could squeeze the words out from the blood in his wrists. “I’m sorry.”
Adam said it like he’d been waiting for months to get this opportunity but Matt startled because in his rush to get here he’d forgotten there was anything for Adam to apologize for. There were a lot of arguments, and fights and dumb things said, or done, but shit, that was what friends did. That’s just how family worked. The Elite was Matt’s family. They had to be because of all those hours on the road, wedged into buses and uncomfortable plane seats, stuck backstage waiting for shows. Matt knew Adam like he knew the back of his own hand and not having Adam in the E.V.P room was like having his right arm cut-off. He still had Nick but Kenny wasn’t around like he used to be and all the extra space was starting to get to him.
“It’s okay, it’s cool, really,” Matt promised. His brow furrowed and he took a half-step towards Adam, floating a little closer. “We’re— I’m proud of you. That’s why I came here, to tell you that, and talk to you. You’ve really come into your own. You did what you said you were going to, and that’s awesome.”
And you did it without us.
“I owe you,” Adam said, and he met Matt’s eyes, unraveling a little bit when he pressed both of his cowboy boots to the tile floor. “You and Nick, and Cody, and— And Kenny.” His eyes shifted off and he sounded so hurt. “I never really told you 'thank you' for that. For taking me into the Bullet Club and giving me all those opportunities. For teaching me so much. I do owe you.”
It was like Don was in the room. Standing over Matt’s shoulder. Matt had to stop himself from looking to check. Every word out of Adam’s mouth sounded like it was proving Callis right. That everyone took from Matt and Nick, and they never got anything back. They were underestimated, devalued, shrugged-off, because they’d lost their edge, lost their hunger. They weren’t the legendary Young Bucks killing the business like old Corny used to say before Matt gave up on listening to his podcast. No, they were some fat, dumb, and happy rich cats. Now they were the promoters and bookers they used to beg for opportunities from, content to rest on their laurels.
For fucks sake, Matt was wearing Dior’s right now.
None of them were who they used to be and Matt worried that maybe he had no idea who Adam was now.
“That’s what friends do,” Matt shrugged and he couldn’t read the look in Adam’s eyes when he pressed to his feet. “We take care of each other. Which we didn’t really do, did we? I don’t know what went wrong Adam, but you were hurting and I just, I didn’t know how to help. It’s hard, watching your best friend kill himself. And we were frustrated about the belts, and admittedly, we took that out on you. I’m sorry too—”
While Matt rambled Adam had closed the distance between them. If Matt reached his arm out, he could touch Adam. It was Jacksonville and early-Spring so the air was warm, heated by the hundreds of bodies trapped in the cloistered hallways of the arena. Yet, this room, even with the whirring air conditioning, felt like it was cooking Matt alive. It’d been months of Adam ducking his head in production meetings and hiding in the corners of the building. So that Matt only ever saw him out of the corner of his eyes like a weird cryptid. Sometimes before Adam’s matches, Matt was out working in gorilla with Tony and Daniels, and it was a legitimate show watching Adam try so hard to avoid eye contact. He’d taken a sudden fascination with the weave of the drape in the past few months. Of course, he always had a beer coming back so it wasn’t like he cared when he pushed past Matt with a set jaw.
Now, Adam was standing right in front of Matt and looking at him. He was gorgeous and Matt had noticed it before. Because he was PAAP , of course, but this was a thought coming to the surface. One he’d normally kept in the Mariana trench of his subconscious. Because he wasn’t supposed to find Adam’s mouth alluring or the lines of his collar bones enticing. Wasn’t supposed to wonder what it’d be like to touch the powerful muscles of his biceps. Matt had been living in his own head for over thirty-five years, he knew what this was, and it was not straight. Kenny had told him to not be ashamed of these feelings, but fuck , if thinking about kissing Adam wasn’t a dangerous line of thought.
Adam licked his lips again and in the low light, Matt noticed the black expanse of his blown pupils. He hovered, looking like he wanted to get closer but knowing he shouldn’t. It was honestly kinda cute, seeing it written all over his sweet face, like a begging puppy. Matt wondered how long Adam had felt like this and let that thought stroke his ego. Then, the embarrassment hit Matt of how he’d acted, when maybe, just maybe, Adam had been pining with this little crush. Then, how overwhelming it was to realize that despite the months apart, while Matt burned with hatred and anger over a fake text, Adam still felt the same. Well, Matt had finally yanked his head out of his ass and he was here now.
So, Matt reached out and he brushed the backside of his knuckles along the curve of Adam’s jaw. Felt the soft stubble against his skin and he smiled because Adam sighed, closing his eyes, almost shivering under Matt’s touch. Matt smiled and traced his thumb to the corner of Adam’s lips. Adam nuzzled his nose into Matt’s hand and pressed a chaste kiss into Matt’s palm. His eyes opened and he fixed Matt with a longing stare, looking hungry again.
Matt chuckled, low and deep in his chest, and tugged on Adam’s elbow with his free hand, “C’mere, Cowboy.”
Adam didn’t need any more encouragement because he surged forward and wrapped his arms around Matt’s shoulders. It was a little smothering, having his nose shoved into Adam’s clavicle as the larger man almost draped around him. Cologne, hotel linen, aromatics, and the strong musk of ‘guy,’ a little sweaty, but the scent was weirdly intoxicating for Matt. Adam was clingy, he kinda always had been —until he wasn’t— but he clutched onto Matt like he’d been waiting to do this for months. Adam pressed his nose into Matt’s hair and ran his fingers through the soft wisps that escaped his bun at the nape of his neck. It was nice to hug Adam again. To let it be ‘okay’ again. To finally close all the space between them, and get around all the bullshit. Matt wrapped an arm around Adam’s waist, appreciating all the strength and muscle pressed into him. With his other hand, he stroked the curve of Adam’s back.
“I’m sorry,” Adam said again, and this time Matt heard all the hurt. In his soft little gasp and felt it in the way he leaned into Matt, weak in his legs. Like, he was tired of standing up on his own.
“It’s okay, really,” Matt promised into Adam’s ear. “It’s all in the past, Hangman. I just wanna forget about it now. I’m sorry about everything I said and did too, even the stuff I don’t know about, and that it took this long to fix it. I didn’t know, didn’t realize this was how you felt.”
“I just wanted to make you proud,” Adam admitted. “That’s all I ever wanted.”
“You did, you have,” Matt said. He pushed on Adam’s hip so he, ever so reluctantly, peeled away from Matt. So, that way Matt could look at him and make sure he got this across. “I promise you have, you always have.”
For the first time since Matt met the guy, Adam looked like he believed it and that felt like a fucking miracle. If Matt ever doubted the existence of God, he’d have this moment to cling his faith too. Because for every prayer Matt muttered on his sleepless nights he’d whisper and beg for Adam to get his shit together. For him to put down the bottle and stop second-guessing his friends. That Adam would accept the idea that he was a good wrestler, that he belonged in the Elite, and that his friends loved him, title belts or not. At some point, Matt had given up on saying these affirmations because every time he said them, Adam would look at him like he was lying. Sometimes, Matt had wished he could dig into Adam’s skull and find whatever little voice was uttering the counter-narrative to him. Then he’d get his hands on the bastard and strangle it ‘till it was dead, and Adam would finally be happy in his own skin.
Another, more bitter part of Matt wondered what John Silver and Alex Reynolds, and the rest of the Dark Order, had that Matt didn’t. That they could coax Adam to this point of confidence in a handful of months. Doing far more in that little time than Matt ever did in four years. Maybe, this room was better for Adam after all. Maybe, he did belong here. Maybe, this is where he needed to be. Matt did not like how that made him feel. Because there was another, very hungry, very desperate part of Matt that wanted to put a rope around Adam so he never strayed so far from his side again. To put his hands in Adam’s chest and tug out his heart so it’d stay with him, with the Elite. So that Adam could be his and only his.
“ Matt. ”
Adam was pleading with him, his voice soft, and his chin tucked close to his chest so he stooped over Matt, like a bent-over, sad little giraffe. Except, Matt felt the brush of heated breath over his bottom lip, and Adam, ever so hesitant, slow, as if he was afraid of startling Matt, pressing his hand to Matt’s hip. Adam’s eyes were almost black now and his gaze fixated on Matt’s mouth. Heat poured off his body and chest. Then, Matt felt the ghost of touch along his throat, neck, jaw, trying to pull him in but too scared to commit. Matt went loose in Adam’s grip, tugged on the front of his shirt to bring them flush. Adam kissed him, a soft and light kiss, fluttering against Matt’s lips. It felt like lightning running up Matt’s spine and settling back down in his stomach. Like, he’d swallowed a bunch of butterflies. It was so brief and quick, Adam pulled away almost immediately. Matt sighed, edging into a self-satisfied, pleased grin but Adam looked like he’d just put his hand on a hot stove. His eyes wide, cheeks bright pink, and stuttering over his words.
“ Matt, I didn’t mean to, I just, I’m s—” And Matt kissed him, to swallow the apology because he was sick of Hangman apologizing for being himself.
Adam groaned into Matt’s mouth as Matt deepened their kiss so it was slow and lingering. He didn’t like having to press on his toes and angle his head, so he pushed on Adam’s chest. Until Adam parted, stumbling back ‘till his knees hit the bench behind him and he plopped down onto the seat. He stared up at Matt, thumb running along the edge of Matt’s t-shirt as Matt straddled his lap. He didn’t give a shit if an entire camera crew was outside or if Nick was waiting, he just wanted to get his hands all over Adam. To kiss him stupid so Adam knew exactly who he belonged to. Fuck, he’d been waiting for this for— years, since he first saw Page in that jean vest and trying to look mean.
And that’s what Matt did. He tilted Adam’s head so he could find the right angle and push his tongue past the curve of Adam’s teeth. Adam clutched at his jacket, his jeans, his shirt, ran his hand along Matt’s ribs just to feel him up. Matt kissed Adam until his lips were pink and swollen, damp with spit, as he gasped for breath. Matt settled on Adam’s thighs, played his fingers through his hair. He hummed when Adam ducked his head and pressed a kiss to the side of his neck. Then, Page reached up, dug his fingers into Matt’s hair, and yanked lose his bun. The growl that rolled from Adam’s chest was almost feral as he scraped his teeth against the side of Matt’s throat and sucked until Matt felt the skin pucker, tingling with a fresh bruise. Adam was working on getting Matt’s jacket off, pulling down the zipper, but only when he started to push it off Matt’s shoulders did he pause.
Despite all that aggression, he still looked at Matt to ask for permission and it was so cute. Because Adam was all puppy-dog eyes, hands hovering over the muscles of Matt’s biceps and his face flushed red. Except, Matt didn’t want Adam to ask anymore, he just wanted him to take it. And Matt wondered, if the reason Adam was fucking around with the Dark Order and Matt Hardy, and anywhere that wasn’t single’s competition, was because he was afraid to climb any higher.
“Like what you see, cowboy?” Matt purred, arching an eyebrow. “You don’t have to just stare.”
“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Adam growled, and then he yanked the rest of Matt’s jacket off him, pulling the cuffs over Matt’s wrists. And then Adam’s hands were on him, touching his arms, his shoulders, his back, and each run of those calloused fingers sent shockwaves through Matt’s system. He let Adam tug him down for another kiss, this one more desperate and needy, and through each press of their mouths, Matt could taste the hunger in Adam’s gut. Adam worked his fingers along the hem of Matt’s shirt and peeled it up to his chest. The cut of cool air on his hot skin was like a knife slicing through his ribs.
Then Matt’s phone went off and what terrible timing. Adam had pressed his lips to the center of his chest, and he was staring up at Matt with sweet eyes. His nose buried into the rucked fabric of Matt's shirt where it crossed under his arms. Shit, but it was probably Nick, but fuck, Adam, as he nuzzled into Matt’s collarbone and hooked his arm around Matt’s waist. Damnit, they couldn’t be doing this here though.
“You should answer that,” Adam grinned into Matt’s skin even as Matt resolved not to. Adam worked Matt’s shirt the rest of the way off and tossed it to the side. Matt dug his phone out of his back pocket and answered it, pressing the speaker to his ear. Adam evidently wasn’t about to let up as he resumed pressing kisses to Matt’s throat, clavicle, nipping at his chest. Matt rested his hand on Adam’s head, resolving to just let him work, enjoying the feeling of Adam’s attention
“Hey, where the hell are you?” Nick asked on the other side. Okay, that was his brother and this was too weird. Matt pushed on Adam’s shoulder to get him to let off. Adam sank back into the booth, arms looped loosely around Matt’s waist. Matt settled into Adam’s lap but he still let his fingers tangle with Adam’s curls. “T.K. wants to meet up to talk about next week’s booking with all the E.V.P’s before we head out tonight. Everyone is here in the production meeting room, we’re just waiting on you, dude.”
“Yeah, sorry,” Matt said, “I just got held-up with a uh—“ he glanced at Adam whose grin was almost cocky. Yeah, Matt bet Adam enjoyed distracting him from his job. “With a talent. I’ll be over there in a minute.”
Adam nudged his nose into Matt’s throat and settled there, almost hiding his face, just breathing in Matt. Matt wished he could take Adam with him to California so they could just stay like this for hours. Sequester Adam away from all the bullshit and drama on Dynamite. Drag Adam far enough away that Kenny and Don Callis would never find him. Except it didn’t work like that and it never would.
“Okay, I’ll see you then,” Nick said. “We got a flight to catch first thing tomorrow morning so don’t hang around, I’m exhausted.”
“You’re always exhausted,” Matt grumbled. “See you, man.”
He hung up the phone and had barely deposited it back into his pocket before hands gripped either side of his face. Adam yanked Matt around and this time the kiss was bruising. Adam cussed against Matt’s lips and it was like he was just trying to press emotion into Matt, an overwhelming, too-muchness. Matt had a hard time letting up too, because every time he thought maybe he should stop, there was another inch of Adam’s mouth or lips to explore. Or, another part of Adam to paw at, to press against. Then Adam made this little whiny noise when Matt tilted his head a certain way, and he was two seconds from saying, ‘fuck it,’ and spending the rest of the night, or week, or year with Adam.
But Adam pushed him off and whispered, breathless, “You should get going.”
And he had a point because it was late, and they were in a public place while Matt straddled Adam’s legs, shirtless. Speaking of, where the hell did Adam throw that particular garment? Matt slid off Adam’s lap, rubbing at his now sore knees, and fetched his shirt from across the room. He tugged it on and then found his jacket to pull that on too. He played his fingers over the hickey Adam had left him, just above his collar line. The look Adam was giving him from where he still sat across the room told Matt he knew exactly what he had done. Matt tucked his hair over his shoulders and hoped that with the poor lighting backstage, no one would notice. Or, he could just play dumb about the bruise. Adam met him at the door and there was no salvaging him because he looked wrecked. Mouth red, cheeks flushed, and hair in complete disarray. In Matt’s honest opinion, he looked fantastic.
“Is this why you came here?” Adam asked, he was teasing. “To make out with me?”
“Let’s call it a lucky bonus,” Matt said, and then he realized he had no idea what to say, or do, next. Or, even where the hell he and Adam stood in their relationship. He suddenly felt like he was ten miles out to sea without a life vest. “Hey, uh, I don’t think I need to say it, but let’s keep this between us, yeah? No need to have all this on the dirt sheets.”
“Oh, you don’t need to tell me twice,” Adam said. He reached out and grabbed the handle for the door. His throat bobbed and he looked hungry again when he looked back at Matt. “Can we—can we do this again? Later?”
“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Matt teased as he pressed on his toes and pecked at Adam’s lips. “I’ll see what I can do. C’mon, you go that way, I go this way, if anyone asks we never saw each other.”
“Or made-out,” Adam added into Matt’s ear as they left the room.
Matt swatted at Adam’s rear end as they parted in the hallway. He tried not to look back over his shoulder as he walked towards gorilla. Euphoria chased Matt though because he had Adam again. It was fragile and tender, and also very weird, but it was something. The arena was quiet and empty, the halls devoid of life as Matt approached the locker room where they held the production meetings. He nudged open a heavy metal door to see Cody, Kenny, Nick, and his boss all sitting around a plastic table. Every single man had their arms crossed tight over their chest and the spread of papers between them may have well been a loaded revolver. Spin the cartridge and see who gets unlucky in a game of cruel roulette. The air dripped with rage and exhaustion. Matt settled in a chair across from Nick and joined in on ignoring the furious tension.
Matt watched the wall clock as TK rambled about the show and booking. Cody and Nick, ever helpful, interjected with suggestions or updates on particular wrestlers. Matt answered the questions posed to him. Kenny sat on the far side of the table with the title belt draped over his shoulder and his eyes hidden by the aviators.
“I want Page to have more single matches,” Tony said like this wasn’t dropping a nuclear bomb and kicking off the second cold war. “He’s got a good TV match and the crowd loves him.”
Cody had a whole list of suggested names for TK for those singles matches. A ton of Dark and Elevation talent to throw through the Cowboy Wood Chipper. Matt knew every single talent because he was good at his job and he knew none of them were going to beat Page. He stretched his brain to figure out who on their damn roster would and could. One of them was sitting at the table. After that the list was brief. TK wouldn't agree to a Mox versus Adam Page match that wasn't on a PPV. That was not a match to give away for free.
“Why not put Page with the Dark Order?” Matt interjected. “He had those trios matches with Reynolds and Silvers, those got good ratings. We’re building up for that trios belt too.”
“We’re not going to book Page for a trios belt,” Nick grunted. Matt locked eyes with his brother and tried to broadcast, ‘get on my side dude,’ directly into Nick’s brain. Despite popular belief though they never did develop telepathy. Nick’s gaze slid down and Matt knew he had noticed the hickey. “He’s not in their faction anyway. If the Dark Order is going to run a trios team, then it needs to be their own guys.”
“Page just ate Matt fucking Hardy for lunch,” Cody said and Matt could see the metaphorical gun in his hand. He remembered when they’d joke at these meetings and eat too many Oreos. Not have a Mexican stand-off. With no compunction, Cody pulled the trigger. “He’s a singles wrestler and we all know he’s not going for the T.N.T. belt. I say we start with Cezar, he’s hot, he’s big, and that’s just money.”
While Tony sucked up to Cody’s good sense, Matt looked across the table. Kenny lounged in his chair and he dragged his nails along the facet of the title. There was no reason for him to have that here other than that he was an asshole. A reminder of what he had taken from them. Matt had known Kenny longer than he had known Adam. Kenny was like a shark in the water and he smelled blood. And Matt realized that Kenny was hungry. And when he looked at Cody, stretched across the table, eyes intent on the schedule, Matt realized that he was hungry. And when he looked at Nick, Matt realized that his brother was hungry too. But Adam was starving.
He wasn’t going to be making out with Adam again anytime soon.