Good friend.
Ewan wasn't utterly satisfied with the term, now aware of his feelings for the amazing, gorgeous woman whose head rested on his shoulder, but he could take it because he knew that it was more than someone in his condition could ever hope for.
From friend to good friend. That was progress in his books.
Maybe if the universe would show him mercy as it had done today—in their capture of Morgan—he would be promoted, from good friend, to maybe, boyfriend?
He licked his lower lip, his eyes moving to the window, watching the houses they kept passing as they moved toward Connor's residence; following steadily behind the black van where Morgan and his little crew of two had been kept.
"So, tell me about Philemon… your history with him. I've heard of his gang, but talk to me about the deeper things."
A pause, where Athena wetted her lips, yet didn't move from her position—a position she was aware she enjoyed.
