Chapter 7 La Fourchette #2
The walnut parquet floor was warm under Johnny’s slippered feet, and he moved around the square tables and sage-green benches with practiced ease.
People looked at him, of course. Probably because he was six foot two and was able to carry stacks upon stacks of plates and glasses without his arms getting tired, and because his dad insisted on introducing him to every fucker who walked through the door.
Johnny didn’t mind it. It made his dad happy that everyone else knew he was a police officer in his spare time (his dad’s words, of course).
Johnny noticed that the girl from table six had moved to the bar, and she had a friend with her. They were sharing a pitcher of Long Island iced tea and were very obviously looking at him as they swivelled around on their stools.
“Son!” Papa called, waving him over.
Johnny sighed, dropped the dishes into the kitchen—grinning when he caught sight of Taylor in a plastic apron—and padded over to the bar.
“Did I tell you my boy’s a police officer?” Papa said, puffing out his chest as he pulled Johnny through the bar hatch and under his arm. He had to bend awkwardly, because his dad was about six inches shorter.
“You did,” the omega’s friend said, playfully tipping his head and holding out a hand.
He had light brown hair that fell in soft waves around his shoulders, and freckles that could give Taylor’s a run for their money.
Definitely an omega, and attractive in a ‘completely confident in his own skin’ kind of way.
“Pleasure to meet you,” he purred. “I’m Theo, and my gorgeous friend is Emily.”
Johnny shook the offered hand, not missing the way Theo’s thumb caressed his knuckles. Johnny nodded at Emily, who took a gulp of her drink, nodding sheepishly back. She had blonde hair down to her waist and a crooked smile that was actually quite charming.
“Thank you,” she said, clutching the strap of her bag. “For telling me about that guy.”
Johnny nodded, gently removing his hand from Theo’s grip and stepping back. From the grin on Papa’s face, he could tell he was about to say something embarrassing, so Johnny ducked from behind the bar and said, “You’re welcome. Have a nice night.”
After that the evening became a blur of cleaning tables and delivering drinks, and when the night finally started slowing down the kids emerged from the back room. The late nights were not ideal because Marty was struggling to keep his eyes open as he leant on Gabriella’s shoulder.
Papa served them bowls of apple slices and hot milk with cinnamon sticks, lining them up on the bar like a round of shots. The kids loved it, especially the girls.
Emily and Theo were still sitting at the bar, Emily’s eyes practically popping out of her skull when Taylor stepped out of the kitchen with wet arms, wringing a tea towel between his hands.
Johnny swallowed, forcing his eyes away as Taylor tugged at his T-shirt, inadvertently showing off a slice of his belly. Water flicked onto his skin, catching in the hairs and—
“I am k-n-a-c-k-e-r-e-d!” Taylor said, walking over to the kids. He ruffled Marty’s hair and pinched a slice of apple from Clementine’s dish. “Can I be released from this free labour now, please?”
Papa laughed, pulling Taylor around the bar like he’d done with Johnny. “This is my other son,” he said, patting Taylor’s chest. “The printer ran out of black ink, as you can see.”
Theo laughed and popped a glacé cherry between his lips. “Plenty of red left though, right, handsome?”
Taylor winked as he said, “You know it.”
Johnny was about to slap a tea towel down on the bar to draw Taylor’s attention back to him when he was met by Maman’s hand on his elbow.
“We’ll be closing shortly,” she said, placing two takeout boxes in front of Emily and Theo.
“We had some coconut cake leftover. Would you like your drinks to go?”
Theo’s eyes went wide and he tapped his feet on the footrest. “Yummy!” he said, slurping down the rest of his drink. Emily did the same.
“Are you free now, then?” Theo asked, his brown eyes trailing over Johnny’s entire body. “We could go somewhere. All of us?”
“Theo,” Emily whispered, pinching his arm.
Johnny could see Papa smiling and nodding from the corner of his eye, his approving look making Johnny’s insides shrivel.
“What? You’re done for the night, right? Your friend too?” Theo said.
Maman stepped forwards before Johnny could decline and Taylor could accept. “Actually, they need to help me close up. They might be a while.” She smiled, nodding as they said goodbye, her hand resting on Johnny’s back to stop him from escaping whatever talk she had planned.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Johnny whispered, watching as Taylor helped Papa pack up the bar.
“Yes, I did,” she said quietly, switching form English to rapid-fire French. “Because it breaks my heart every time you see someone turn his head.”
Johnny frowned and sucked his teeth. “He can go out with whoever he wants, Maman. It’s no one’s business but his.”
“And what about you, baby? How will you feel if he comes home tomorrow smelling of someone else?”
“How I always do. I live with it, and I get on with it.”
Maman gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him down to meet her gaze. “For how long? I know how you look at him. We all know, except Papa. Me, Chichi, even the girls are starting to notice. It’s confusing for them because Taylor is their brother too.”
Johnny ran a hand down his face. “Please, Maman. Not now.”
“Not now. Then when, John-Paul? When your heart’s conflicted the—”
“The Devil hits his second stride. Yes, Maman, I know.”
Maman shook her head and sighed. “You’re a good boy, John-Paul. Do you really think Taylor’s going to thank you for torturing yourself like this?”
Johnny flicked his eyes to Taylor, watching as he and Papa juggled sugar cubes. “He’s my best friend. My only friend. How do I just tell him I’ve been in—” He clamped his mouth shut.
Because how could he tell his best friend that sometimes, maybe, he thought about him in the shower?
Or that his very first rut had been brought on by the sight of Taylor’s sweaty chest in a skintight T-shirt?
Or that his scent was fucking perfect. Or that every time Taylor fucked someone else it chipped away at his heart just a tiny bit more?
He’d tried ignoring it—for all the good that did.
When he was younger he’d tried speaking more softly, or moving more gracefully like an omega would, because if the good old English classics (and Grease) had taught him anything, it was that you stand a better chance of bagging the man you love if you hammer yourself into a more desirable shape.
Horse shit, because Taylor had just looked at him like he was crazy.
Johnny had tried fucking other people—even alphas.
Especially alphas. He’d left his shirt open more than once so Taylor could see the love bites across his chest and collarbones.
He’d look at them intently, seeming to study them before looking back up at Johnny and giving him a slap on the back and a thumbs up.
Johnny knew how Taylor looked first thing in the morning, the way his orange hair stuck up on the left side and his eyes were puffy with sleep.
He knew how he sounded when he laughed—a dirty, full-belly sound that seemed to shake the entire house.
He knew how he smelled after a rut, and how his skin felt when his wolf receded.
So was Johnny really being so selfish in wanting to know how he tasted, too?
One night he’d even asked God to deliver him from temptation, but then he saw Taylor naked the next morning and realised that forbidden fruit made the. Best. Fucking. Jam.
Alphas mated with other alphas, sure they did, ever since mating restrictions had been lifted in the early nineteen hundreds. But not them. Not Taylor, who had practically been his fucking brother for well over a decade and only liked omegas.
“John-Paul,” Maman whispered, squeezing his wrist. “Baby, you’re growling.”
Johnny coughed, making both of them jump. “Sorry,” he whispered, pulling Maman into his arms. “Can we just drop it, Maman?”
She sighed and rubbed her face over his chest. She smelled like spices and was so wonderfully warm. “Yes.”
A shriek cut through the quiet. “Mama!” Marty cried, running towards them and hiding behind Johnny’s legs. “Mama, it’s William’s dad! He’s outside!”
Johnny’s head snapped up, eyes darting towards the two arched windows that faced the high street.
There was a loud thud, followed by the smashing of glass, and suddenly Taylor smacked a cocktail shaker onto the bar and was barrelling towards the door.
Ushering Marty into Maman’s arms, Johnny bolted after him.
They were out on the street, light spilling onto the pavement from all the other bars and restaurants.
The street lamps caught Taylor’s hair, and the green glass of a beer bottle crunched under his shoes.
His fists balled at his sides as he started after the man swaggering down the street.
Johnny grabbed the collar of Taylor’s shirt, yanking him back.
“Don’t,” he growled, trying to pull him away, but Aden Manders was already turning to face them.
“Stay the fuck away from my son!” he called, planting his feet and flipping them the middle finger. He wore a filthy, hole-filled T-shirt and brown labourer’s trousers, even though Johnny knew he’d barely worked a day in the last five years.
Manders gave them a self-satisfied smirk as he reached down and picked up a bottle of vodka from next to a public bin. He took a long swig, wiped his mouth with his palm and belched. “Ya fuckin’ nonce.”
Taylor lurched forwards, but Johnny kept hold of his shirt.
“Let me go,” Taylor snarled, trying to shake Johnny off.
“Cool it, Scrappy-Doo. Don’t you think this is what he wants?”
“I don’t give a shit what he wants, JP. I want to cave his fucking fangs in.”