Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 6

message. Shifting his duffel bag to his other shoulder, he reached into the pocket of his jeans for his phone. Looking at the screen, he blinked in surprise at the sender before opening up the message.
    4:38PM Cam Hunter: Hey, random Q– you feel like seeing the Boss tonight? Buddy bailed on me & I remembered you like Springsteen. It's out in Philly.
    Raising his brows, he barely gave it a second thought before hitting "Reply."
    5:02PM Brad Jameson: Uh, yeah, I'm in. Tried to get tix in NYC, but sold out. Where & when?
    He hit "Send" and slipped his phone back into his pocket. After grabbing a bottle of water from the pantry, he made his way to the parking lot. His phone chirped again.
    5:07PM Cam Hunter: Great, it's a special live performance at the Shoreline. Starts at 9PM. Going to grab a bite before if you're interested.
    Unlocking his car, Brad tossed his duffel into the backseat. Dinner with Cam Hunter? Well, he'd survived a high school basketball game in his company. Had enjoyed it, actually, if he had to be honest with himself. Maybe this was step who-knows in his let's-not-be-a-dick rehab program.
    5:10PM Brad Jameson: Sure, at training camp in NJ right now, so will head down. Where to meet?
    After logging the destination into his GPS, Brad shifted into drive and pulled onto the turnpike.
    ****
    The bell on the door jingled above Brad's head as he walked into the well-lit Mexican joint that Cam had chosen. Brad had made pretty good time to Philly, pulling into a space at a nearby parking lot just after seven o'clock. With the short winter days, the sky had long gone dark, but he'd had no problem finding the restaurant, which was only two blocks from the concert venue in downtown Philadelphia.
    Brad took a step inside and smoothed a hand over his dark brown curls, which hadn't yet fully dried from his post-practice shower. He walked past the old-fashioned green cash register, a dish of peppermint candies, and the light yellow walls covered in colorful artwork painted on black velvet. A scrubbed counter with a handful of fixed stools lined the right hand side, and green vinyl booths holding a scattering of customers lined the left hand side under the windows. Scanning the booths, Brad saw Cam Hunter sitting in the far left corner facing the entrance. His dark grey Henley shirt was snug on his wide shoulders, and long legs encased in jeans and ending in brown utility boots extended into the aisle. He was shifting the condiments on the table around, his face unreadable. He looked up as Brad approached and stayed his hands from their restless movements.
    "Hey," Brad said as he walked up to the booth after catching Cam's eye. Brad offered a hand in greeting automatically, which Cam shook after a moment's hesitation, his expression relaxing into a smile.
    "Hey, Brad."
    "Thanks a lot for your message. It's really decent of you to have me along for this concert," Brad said as he slid into the booth across from Cam.
    "Don't mention it," Cam said, his white teeth flashing in another smile and his blue gaze warm and friendly. "We Springsteen fans need to stick together. There aren't many of us in our generation."
    Brad snorted. "Yeah, well, our generation made some unfortunate choices. If you ever catch me listening to the Backstreet Boys or wearing super baggy pants halfway down my ass, you have my permission to shoot me."
    Chuckling, Cam turned to the short Hispanic woman in a pink apron who had approached their table and set down two glasses of water. Cam smiled and said, "Hi Rosa."
    "Señor Hunter, so nice to have you back," she declared, smiling broadly. "What will you have today? The usual?"
    "Thanks, yeah, it's nice to see you, too. The usual sounds good," Cam agreed, nodding.
    "The usual?" Brad echoed. "And what exactly is that?" he asked, looking between Rosa and Cam.
    Cam colored slightly before mumbling, "A half dozen sour cream chicken enchiladas with a side of rice and beans, extra beans, and a Horchata."
    Brad grinned at the mention of the dessert drink. "Your sweet tooth attacks you even here, Hunter? Cam, that is," Brad amended.
    Inclining his head in acknowledgment of Brad's correction, Cam deadpanned, "It's a good thing I work out."
    Recognizing his own words from the other night, Brad eased back into the booth with a chuckle. His gaze lingered on Cam's broad shoulders, which were well-defined under the thin cotton shirt. Seeing the other man's muscular physique, there was no denying the time and