3. Taint in a Tizzy
Chapter 3
Taint in a Tizzy
COLE
B y the time I got through traffic and left my car with the valet at the packed club, I expected to find Freddy happily—and shirtlessly—behind the bar while women gathered around him.
I was half right.
He was behind the bar. And women were gathered around, throwing cash like he was working the main stage at a strip club.
But he wasn’t shirtless.
And he wasn’t happy.
He was smiling as he grabbed alcohol at random and mixed it, serving drinks that no one had ordered but everyone wanted. But there was a fakeness to it. One that said he was too stressed to relax in a booth with a drink. That he needed to cook, and since that wasn’t possible with no kitchen nearby, he was settling.
This is gonna get messy.
Or bloody.
I stormed across the crowded club before having to shove my way through the crush of adoring women.
“Hey, hot stuff.” Freddy’s accent was thicker—not a good sign since that meant he was already wasted—and his smile turned genuine as he set the finished drink in front of me.
I pushed it to the side—the glass and the annoying buzz that hit my chest at his smile and meaningless greeting. “Darryl know you’ve turned his club into a male Coyote Ugly ?”
Grabbing a new bottle, he jerked his head toward where the owner happily rang out tabs. Even the other bartenders seemed to enjoy the overflow from Freddy’s fan club and the tips he was undoubtedly handing over to them.
“Clock out,” I joked since he didn’t work there, “and wave goodbye to your adoring fans.”
“But the night is young. It’s hot. It’s off-limits.” His smile dropped before he knocked back the drink he hadn’t finished making in the metal mixing glass. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and tossed the thing to land with a clatter before grabbing one that was untainted by his mouth. “What do you want?”
“You—” I started before someone shoved me.
Ah fuck.
Accident or not, I expected Freddy to hop the bar to have my back. Or just go straight to violence, depending on how dark his mood was. But when I looked at him, his blue eyes weren’t narrowed in a glare aimed at whoever had knocked into me.
They were locked on me, and the realization of what I’d said smacked me in the head.
“I want you to get out of here before the night takes a turn,” I clarified.
Whatever unreadable expression he’d had disappeared, and that bullshit smile was back. He took another shot before handing the bottle and shaker off to a bartender who was thankfully quick enough because Freddy would’ve let both drop to shatter on the floor. “You’re no fun.”
“So I’ve heard.”
He climbed onto the bar and gave a flourishing bow before nearly toppling over. He caught his balance and jumped down. “Let’s go, Officer Uptight.” When the woman next to him tried to convince him to stay—with her words, pouty lip, and perky tits—he rolled his eyes. “Sorry, chéri. My parole officer says I must leave.”
I shook my head as I pushed my way back through the crowd, pausing often to make sure Freddy followed. He did. Slowly. He also stopped to wink at people, bust out little dance breaks, and whatever other nonsense he could do to stall.
“Are you sure we have to leave?” he asked when we neared the exit.
“What’re the chances the night ends with you fucking or fighting”—I gestured around—“some random clubber?”
He tilted his head to mull it over. “Fifty percent.”
“That low?”
“Fifty percent fight, fifty percent fuck, one hundred percent one of them.”
He wouldn’t actually fuck anyone. He would tell himself he was going to. He would flirt. He would take them to Star— never his apartment.
And then security would have to deal with the sobbing or pissed-off woman who couldn’t handle his rejection.
Casual wasn’t his style, and he didn’t have time for anything more. Not when cooking was his true love, and no one else could compete or handle that they would never come first.
“That’s what I thought.” I jerked my head toward the door. “Let’s go.”
He followed me outside and took out a smoke from a smashed pack in his back pocket. He hung it between his lips as he felt around his pockets for a lighter.
I handed the valet ticket over before turning to pull the cigarette free, tossing it to the side.
“What the fuck? Have you seen the cost for a pack of those?”
“You quit,” I reminded.
“Unless I’ve been drinking.” He gestured down himself like that point needed to be emphasized.
“Not in my car.”
“Then I’ll run home. Beautiful night for a smoke and a run.”
“Right up until you hack a lung out on a pedestrian bridge across the Strip.”
“It wouldn’t be the worst bodily fluid splattered across those bridges.” He stuck another cigarette in his mouth before adding, “Today alone.”
I reached for that one, too, but he dodged me. “I won’t light it.”
“Fine.” The valet pulled up with my car, and I opened the passenger door. “Get in.”
Freddy patted my cheek a few times, each growing harder than the last. “A gentleman.”
I shut the door after him before rounding the car to climb in. Once we were through the worst of the traffic, I asked, “What’s got your taint in a tizzy?”
“Since when are you so damn chatty?” he muttered, closing his eyes as he tilted his head back like he was asleep.
I wasn’t buying it. His body was tight, tension rolling off it to fill the small space.
“Work?” I asked.
He faked a snore.
“Stupid customers?”
Another snore.
“Staff giving you a hard time?”
That was met with suspicious quiet.
Huh .
I drummed my thumbs on the steering wheel. “Got it. One of your new recipes tastes like shit, and you can’t?—”
“None of my recipes ever taste like shit,” he snapped, his bruised ego making him forget that he was ignoring me. “Even my worst recipes are far above other ones.”
“Maybe you’re losing your touch.”
“Losing my… My…” He let out an indignant growl. “ Putain ! How dare you?—”
“Then tell me what’s actually happening.”
“ She’s happening.”
I stopped at a red light and looked over, my brows up shooting up in surprise. “Who?”
“No one.” He ran a palm down his face. “A stupid crush, like I’m fourteen and not twenty-seven damn years old. I’ll be over it as soon as we change those fucking uniforms…”
It was easy to forget he was four years younger than me. Marco was oldest at thirty-six, followed by Maximo, Ash, then me. Despite him being the youngest of us all, Freddy had figured out something resembling a work-life balance before the rest of us had.
Hell, I still hadn’t.
It was shocking as shit to hear he was tied in knots over an employee at one of the restaurants. He never dipped into the company pool. As far as I knew, he’d never been tempted. Usually, he spent his time too frustrated by fuckups, excuses, and incompetence to take an interest. It didn’t matter how attractive the woman was, his focus was on his work in the kitchen.
Curiosity pricked at me.
Maybe it’s time to run performance diagnostics in all the restaurants.
The light changed, and I started driving again. I let the conversation drop and asked something that I knew would improve his mood. “What’s on the menu for the week?”
Bad-tempered or not, he couldn’t resist telling me about the specials he had planned and the experimental dishes he’d been working on. And despite my own penchant for not talking, I could’ve listened to him for hours.
I pulled into his assigned spot at his apartment. “Your car still at the club?”
He shook his head. “Took a rideshare from Moonlight.”
Meant he knew it was gonna be this kinda night.
“I’ll swing by in the morning to pick you up,” I offered.
Still leaning back against the headrest, he shook his head and rolled it to look at me. “Want to crash here?”
My gut and chest clenched with something I didn’t want to look too closely at. “I have to get some work done.”
“Shocked. I’m shocked.” His lip quirked. “You work too much.” He reached out and patted my cheek a few times like he’d done at the club. But rather than ending with a soft slap, his hand cupped my cheek.
That feeling.
The one that’d been growing the more time I spent with him.
The one that didn’t make any damn sense to me because I’d never felt it directed at another man.
The one that I’d successfully ignored, brushing it off as yet another side effect of my fucked-up life.
It grew until it was impossible to push down. The tension from his pissy mood disappeared, replaced by a different heaviness.
And I wasn’t the only one who felt it.
Freddy’s smirk fell as his gaze dropped to my mouth.
Logic and consequences be damned, I was about to move without thought when a car door slammed nearby, startling both of us.
I jolted back as far as the small space would allow, pushing myself against the door as I stared straight ahead. “I should get going. Lotta footage to sort through.”
He had no clue what footage I was talking about, but it didn’t matter. We were both taking the out. “Right, yeah. Thanks for the ride. Remind me to never drink again.”
He climbed from the car, slamming the door behind him.
I stayed where I was, my hands clenched tight around the steering wheel as I watched him head toward the door. There was a burst of a small flame, then the glowing red of a cigarette cherry.
I rolled down my window to shout, “You quit.”
He just flipped me off.
Throwing the car into reverse, I drove to Moonlight to load the flash drive onto my computer. I kept my focus on finding Mila’s attackers.
And not the fact I’d almost kissed one of my closest friends.