This wasn’t how it’d been at the lake, on the dock, with Patrick. There was no hesitation, no shakes, no shivers. This wasn’t Larkin’s first kiss, and Doyle wasn’t a boy; he was confidence, intelligence, and devotion, coalescing in the body of a man whose outer appearance was that of downplayed attraction. A suggestion that he hadn’t wanted to be noticed too much. Hadn’t wanted to be taken too seriously. But Larkin noticed. And Larkin had eventually seen through the ploy.
