Chapter 2
Chapter Two
“Those chairs go around the fire bowl,” Xavier said to the two guys from the catering crew who were ambling down the stone steps leading to the dock.
He ran a hand through his hair, not styled yet since he’d stepped out of the shower about four minutes ago.
He wasn’t accustomed to having staff at his home, only at his bar, so this was a totally different ballgame.
Rich guy shit, he thought with a small chuckle. He was still adjusting, he supposed.
When he’d offered his house as the venue for the party, his friends had warned him not to do everything himself.
They’d been busting his balls since finding out about his millionaire status, which he’d reluctantly shared when they’d pressed him about the sale of the app.
They’d further advised that he needed to “stop doing so much shit” himself and live like the one percent.
He’d laughed off the idea at first, but then thought, why not?
Now, though, he noticed that letting people do what he was perfectly capable of doing himself was taking some getting used to.
He’d insisted on Brady’s party being here for two reasons: one, his yard was bigger than Brady and Elliott’s, which wasn’t a humblebrag as much as a fact.
And two, Xavier’s house was tucked into a private part of the Cove, which made it ideal for parties.
Not as many boat drive-bys and a lower likelihood of noise complaints.
And, if he were adding a third reason, his latest brew had been kegged here, so it was ready to be tapped—no hauling necessary.
“You need more ice,” his buddy Ant informed him as he carried a cooler toward the dock.
“I hired staff so that my friends wouldn’t have to carry coolers.”
Ant feigned insult. “I can carry a fuckin’ cooler.”
“So can I. Wasn’t it you who told me to stop doing shit for myself?”
“’Twas I who told you you ain’t got to.” Ant grinned, proud of his combo of formal and informal grammar. “Besides, you’re hanging out with your friends tonight, not serving us. Too many times you’ve been on the wrong side of the bar at Salty Dog.”
True. Xavier worked not because he had to but because he enjoyed the people. His friends would come in to say hi, sip on his latest beer recipe, and shoot the shit. Gave him something to do with his time, and he liked most of it—save the occasional drunk he had to escort out.
Also, May came in fairly often, which made it well worth his while.
Her being there was a good workaround for the no-hot-men rule she’d made that apparently applied to Xavier.
That was a backhanded compliment if he’d ever heard one, but he could flirt shamelessly whenever she pulled up a seat at his bar.
At least when she wasn’t showing up with a date.
“It’s like visiting you in prison,” Ant added.
“It is not like prison.” That wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either.
Lately, working at the bar had been more of an obligation than a pastime.
He’d perfected his brews and had plenty of recipes to rotate for the bar.
He’d even hired Dean, a brewmaster, to take over brewing, aka glorified janitorial work.
The scrubbing, sanitizing, and mopping weren’t as fun as crafting the recipes.
Ant, his ever-present fedora shading his eyes, called up the hill, “You work too much.”
When Xavier had moved to the Cove four—or had it been five?—years ago, he’d been relocating for a job. The startup had hired him for website development and computer programming. At the time, he’d been elated to escape Columbus—his primary goal—and the ex-girlfriend who had fucked him over.
He’d moved from his cramped downtown apartment into a cramped apartment here in the Cove, but the lakeside lifestyle had been a welcome change of scenery.
Work had been…fine. The company fabricated metal for government defense contracts, not as sexy as his former job at a liquor distributor, but it had paid a hell of a lot better.
Fast forward a few years later, when he’d been itching to stretch his creative wings.
The corporate hours had become as mundane and soul-sucking as his gray cubicle, and so he’d traded evenings watching TV for creating an app for happy-hour enthusiasts.
In a few short months, he’d completed it, branded it, and launched it.
It had soared to number one before he’d known what the hell had happened.
Once the bugs had been worked out, he was offered a couple of mill for the app from a huge corporation, which had shocked him sober. He took the deal, never expecting his current employer to lay him off shortly after.
After a few months of brewing beer for fun and losing his mind with nothing to do, Xavier heard about Salty Dog being sold by its original owner. Owning a bar solved his “nothing to do” problem. Working in the service industry had been a steep learning curve, but he’d taken to it like a natural.
Partygoers began filtering into his yard a few hours later, shielding their eyes from the brilliant orange sunlight bouncing off the water.
Xavier hadn’t allowed the staff he’d hired to do everything.
He’d moved a couple of tables and had directed the bar setup to his standards.
He couldn’t help himself—no one set up a better bar than him.
That extra bit of hustle had caused him to sweat through his shirt, so he’d jogged inside to take another shower before changing and heading back downstairs to see if Brady, aka the birthday boy, had arrived yet.
As he wrapped his hand around the handle of the sliding patio door leading to his backyard, he heard a swell of cheers. The man of the hour had finally arrived. As he was opening the door, he also spotted May, and his heart hit his throat.
She was wearing a white dress with bold yellow, blue, and red flowers.
The skirt was long—down to her ankles, but the top was strapless, leaving her smooth shoulders exposed.
His eyes dipped to the knot tied at her cleavage, which only further tempted him.
So, he did what he always did when May was around—rerouted his mind from the bronzed goddess before him and pulled himself the fuck together.
“Happy birthday, old man!” He clapped Brady on the back before leaning in to place a kiss on his wife’s cheek.
Brady and Elliott had gotten married almost a year ago.
Xavier was happier than hell for them. Before Elliott crashed into his life, Brady was a dedicated cop on temporary leave (for some bullshit that went down), a new dog dad (a byproduct of the bullshit that went down), and close with his grandpa.
Xavier could state explicitly that Brady was not looking for a wife at the time. But he’d warmed to the idea fast.
“Thirty-seven isn’t old.” Brady slugged Xavier in the arm.
“Thirty-eight isn’t old either,” Ant argued.
Next to him, Lou grinned. “You make thirty-eight sexy, Anthony Renaldo.”
“Fuck yeah, I do.” Ant smiled before placing a lengthy kiss on his fiancée’s waiting lips.
If Xavier had been asked to put money on whether or not Lou would have forgiven Ant, let alone fallen in love with him, he would not have taken those odds. He’d never been so happy to be wrong.
“It’s no thirty-five.” Xavier grinned when he earned middle fingers from his buddies.
When May’s laughter split the air, the rest of the party fell away.
She never failed to hold his attention hostage.
In Salty Dog more than a few times he’d nearly overflowed beer onto his shoes because his eyes had been on her and not the glass he’d been filling.
Tonight, though, he could give her his full attention. And he intended to do just that.
“Bar is open!” he announced with a clap of his hands.
“My new brew is like me, fun and easygoing, but potent. Tread lightly if you don’t want to puke on the lawn in a few hours.
” More laughter came from his friends. “Food is by the grill and ready when you are. We have lobster, steak, and for you laymen, burgers and dogs. No shame. Eat what you like.”
“Vegetarian options?” someone called out.
“Like I would forget about you veg-heads.” Xavier slid his gaze over to May to soak in her stunning presence for a beat. “For you veg-heads,” he continued, “portobello mushrooms and avocado egg rolls!”
As his friends dispersed, some moving toward the food, others toward Brady to wish him a happy birthday, Xavier beelined for May. Who, if he wasn’t mistaken, batted her lashes as he approached.
“Lisa. May,” he greeted.
“Fancy setup,” Lisa said. “I told you they were the best.” She had recommended the catering staff he’d hired. Her knowledge of “the best” knew no bounds. As right-hand woman to the mayor, Lisa knew virtually everyone in town.
“The bar setup was all me,” he couldn’t help putting in. “But the bartenders are not half bad.”
“I’ll test that theory by ordering a complicated cocktail.” Lisa quirked her mouth, eager for a challenge.
“I want one of your beers,” May said. “Especially if they’re as potent as you.”
Here we go. Flirting with May wasn’t new territory and neither was her sliding him a compliment on occasion. They’d seemed to have settled in a safe zone of Look But Don’t Touch. “Okay, but be careful. You have a ride home?”
“Lisa. If she behaves herself.”
“No promises,” Lisa called over her shoulder as she crossed the lawn to the patio bar.
“I have plenty of space if you need to crash.” Xavier dipped his voice low. “I’ll give you the best room.”
May cocked her head, a sly smile curling her full mouth. “Let me guess. Is the best room yours?”
“King-size bed, floor-to-ceiling windows, bedsheets that cost more than my first car.”
“A tempting offer.” She folded her arms over her chest, and his eyes went to the gold bangles decorating one forearm. They clanged when she lifted one hand to pull a corkscrew curl away from her lip gloss.
God, he could kiss her. Just scoop her up in front of everyone and show her exactly what he was capable of if she gave him the green light. Instead, they stood a few feet apart, staring at each other and grinning like loons.
“In that case, allow me to pour your first beer.” He offered his arm. “Say the word, and I’ll make sure you don’t see the bottom of your cup tonight.”
She slipped her hand into his waiting arm, her fingers cool against his warmer skin. “You take your bartending gig very seriously.”
“When it comes to women as beautiful as you, my commitment is unparalleled.”
She rolled her eyes, and rightly so—he was laying it on thick. He liked that she trusted him and that they were able to be friends with this disruptive amount of sexual tension in the air.
Lisa bumped her hip into May’s, and May surreptitiously removed her hand from his arm. So, she wasn’t quite ready to out them as Friends Who Flirt. They’d get there.
He stepped behind the bar and began pouring beer into red plastic cups. “Hutch! Get your ass over here!” He sent May a smoldering look. “We’re emptying this keg in honor of Officer Brady Hutchins.”
Once the cups were passed around to Elliott and Brady, Ant and Lou, and Lisa and May, Xavier held his own cup aloft. “To the best damn police officer in Evergreen Cove.”
“The entire state of Ohio,” Brady corrected.
“The entire country,” Elliott chimed in.
“The entire country,” Xavier agreed. He came out from behind the bar and lifted his cup. “Let’s make it a night to remember. Except for Brady. We’ll make sure he can’t remember anything about it come morning.”
May sipped from her cup, her dark eyes on him the entire time she drank. He closed the gap between them to ask, “So, what do you think?”
“Definitely potent. I’ll have to be careful.” One of her eyebrows hitched, letting him know that she was okay with flirting with him tonight. “Or not.”
“Not has my vote.”
Like that, her eyes shuttered, her smile sliding from come-hither to polite. Damn this dance. Apparently, she was sticking to her no-hot-men rule tonight. And, barring some sort of amendment, he was forced to play along.