Hutch had lied. He knew Starsky was a good kisser.
An excellent kisser, if the trail of besotted women his partner had left in his wake over the years was any indication. Excellent at kissing, dancing, at being the sexiest damned thing in jeans Hutch had ever seen.
Sexiest thing out of jeans, too....
Hutch reined in his thoughts. His libido too, although that was harder—yeah, a lot harder—to do.
One day, he's gonna have to tell Starsky. Just not yet, so soon after Blaine. He had to wait and see.
Wait, and hope.