Chapter 31
Chase
“My booth” became available thirty seconds after Finn and I returned from the back office.
I didn’t need to ask how that bit of magic had occurred.
The two guys who’d been sitting there took one look at Finn’s face and immediately moved with their drinks, grinning like they’d just witnessed something hilarious.
And they probably had.
I settled into the booth and tried to look casual.
Then I realized there hadn’t been a mirror in Finn’s office, and my hair likely looked like it had actually fucked someone’s brains out despite the rest of my body resisting the urge.
I licked my palm and tried to smooth it out, mash it into some semblance of acceptability.
The last thing I needed was for the world—and especially Finn’s coworkers—to catch on to what had just happened.
Like I hadn’t just been seconds away from fucking Finn against a desk in the back office.
Like my heart wasn’t still racing.
Like I could still form coherent thoughts that didn’t involve Finn’s mouth or slick cock or tight, warm hole . . . or the way he’d looked at me when I’d said no.
The Horny Rivals theme song blared from the TVs, and the entire bar erupted in cheers.
I pulled out my phone, pretending to check emails, but just stared at the screen while my brain tried to reboot.
What the hell had I just done?
I’d stopped us.
I’d actually stopped us.
Finn had been naked and begging me to fuck him, and I’d wanted nothing more than to do exactly that, but it had felt wrong.
Not wrong wrong.
Just . . . not right.
Or not for us.
God, what was happening to me?
When had I become the guy who cared about meaning and not getting laid when the opportunity spread its perky little cheeks before me?
I glanced up at the bar.
Finn was back at work pouring drinks beside Benji; but even from across the room, I could see the flush still coloring his cheeks. I watched the way he kept adjusting his shirt like he was hyperaware of his body now.
As if sensing my gaze, he looked up.
And smiled. It was soft and genuine and maybe a little shy. I couldn’t stop the waves crashing against my chest, threatening to pull me under.
Damn it, his smile could pull me under.
Yeah. I’d made the right call. We didn’t need to christen his office.
I definitely didn’t need to keep kissing him and rubbing his chest and gripping his balls.
I so didn’t need to bite his neck and squeeze his abs as I buried my cock so deep inside him that he ached every time he sat down or walked too fast.
No, that would’ve been bad.
So very bad.
Jacks appeared at my table with a wicked, knowing grin that made me want to sink through the floor.
“Hey there, Chase!” His voice was just a little too loud, just a little too enthusiastic. “So, how’s your night going?”
“Good,” I managed.
“Yeah? You look a little worn out.” His grin widened. “Did you push yourself too hard today? Get a little too much . . . exercise?”
My face went nuclear. “I—”
“Because, you know, it’s important to pace yourself. Don’t want to overdo it on your first . . .” He paused, his grin diabolical. “. . . visit to the back office.”
I wanted to crawl under the table. Possibly die. Probably both.
“Jacks—”
“I’m just saying, boss works hard, you know?
He puts his all into everything he does.
And damn, does he love to please his customers, give them every inch .
. . I mean ounce . . . of energy he’s got.
He’s very thorough.” He was clearly enjoying this way too much.
“Very committed to customers leaving happy. Some might even call it a happy ending to a great night out.”
“Oh my God.”
“What?” Jacks’s expression turned to pure innocence—except for his shit-eating grin. “I’m talking about the bar. What did you think I meant?”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“I spent four years in a locker room with collegiate football players who never let up. For me to get to go on offense for once?” He shrugged, his grin widening. “It’s not just fun. It’s everything.”
“Jacks.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll stop,” he chuckled, but despite his apparent surrender, his evil grin didn’t fade. “What can I get you? Food? Drink? A cold shower? A douche?”
The foursome at the booth next to mine turned, grins painted wide. I slapped a hand to my face and growled, “Jackson!”
“Sorry, sorry.” He laughed, motioned for the onlookers to turn around, and pulled an order pad out of his apron pocket. “I’ll be good. So, for real this time. You want food? Something to drink?”
I took a breath, trying to salvage some dignity and make the crimson I knew was coloring my cheeks recede. “I want to try something new. Just bring me your favorite thing from the kitchen.”
Jacks’s eyebrows went up. “My favorite?”
“Yeah. Whatever you’d order for yourself.”
“Oh man, that’s easy. Champa Bay Tequenos.
It’s Venezuelan cheese sticks, like elevated mozzarella sticks but wrapped in thin pastry dough and way better, served with a tangy garlic sauce.
It’s perfect bar food but still feels like something real.
” He was already writing it down, his enthusiasm shifting from teasing to genuine.
“Kind of like a romp in the back office.”
“Fucking hell,” I said as I slumped over and let my head hit the table.
I could hear Jacks laughing from above. “What about a drink?”
“Have Benji surprise me,” I groaned without lifting my head. “Just go away, please.”
I didn’t dare look up, but I swore I could hear Jacks’s entire face light up.
“Oh, this is going to be good. Benji loves surprise orders, and when he finds out it’s for you, he’s going to go into ‘full Benji mode.’” I heard his tennis shoes slapping against the hard flooring as he began bouncing—literally bouncing—like a golden retriever who’d just been told he was going to the park.
“Be right back. This is going to be amazing.”
I peeked up to watch him scamper away, weaving through the crowd, and I could hear him shouting toward the bar: “BENJI! SURPRISE DRINK FOR THE LAWYER! MAKE IT SUPER GAY!”
My head hit the tabletop with another thunk.
This was my life now.
Yay me.
The episode of Horny Rivals was in full swing—something about a big game and locker room tension. Every guy in the bar was invested. Whenever the two main characters got close, the crowd lost it—cheering, groaning, and someone near the bar screaming, “JUST KISS ALREADY!”
All the while, I stole glances at Finn.
And he stole them back.
Every single time our eyes met, he’d smile. Sometimes, it was little more than a tiny quirk of his lips; but sometimes it grew into his full, genuine smile that made my stomach flip.
I was so in trouble.
Deep, serious trouble.
My food arrived, and Jacks hadn’t steered me wrong. The Champa Bay Tequenos were freakin’ amazing. The drink Benji graced me with was bright pink and topped with what looked like cotton candy.
“Benji calls it ‘The PK,’” Jacks had explained, setting it down with a flourish. “Because it looks all pure and innocent, like a preacher’s kid, but it’s very gay and will destroy you if you’re not careful.”
“Sounds perfect,” I’d said.
“Come to think of it, it’s just like boss,” Jacks added with a wicked wink before disappearing back into the crowd.
I ate slowly, watched the show, and watched Finn, all the while trying not to think too hard about the fact that I was smitten with a man I’d known for little more than three weeks.
The episode ended with the two hockey players kissing. And it wasn’t just kissing; it was full-on making out against the locker room wall. The bar went absolutely feral.
When the credits rolled, the applause and cheers were deafening.
I thought people would start leaving after that. Head home, clear out, rest up for their workday that would come too early on a Monday.
Instead, more people showed up.
The door kept opening.
More bodies poured in.
Within twenty minutes, the bar had gone from “packed” to “fire marshal would have a stroke.”
People stood shoulder to shoulder, and the noise of laughter and guys chatting was so loud I couldn’t even hear the music playing over the speakers.
Finn, Benji, and Jacks were drowning. Mark had joined the bartenders and was moving faster than I thought possible for the burly guy. Still, they struggled to keep up.
I finished my food, drained The PK—which had lived up to the description because I could barely feel my cheeks anymore—and pulled out my wallet.
There was no way Jacks would be able to visit my table anytime soon. If I wanted to leave at a decent hour, I had to take control of my own fate, but getting to the bar to settle my tab was going to be a challenge.
I wedged my way through the crowd until I found an opening at the bar. It wasn’t really a seat, more like a sliver of space next to a mountain of a man in a Lightning jersey with the sleeves cut off and a scissor-slit down the front that showed off approximately seventeen pounds of chest hair.
“S’cuse me,” I said, squeezing onto the stool.
The guy grunted but shifted to give me room.
I sat there for what felt like an hour but was probably ten minutes, trying to catch Finn’s attention. He was in constant motion, pouring, mixing, serving, talking to customers, and somehow managing to smile even though he looked exhausted.
Finally—finally—he looked in my direction.
His face lit up.
God, that smile.
He made his way over, dodging Jacks and his buckets of ice, until he stood directly in front of me.
“Hey, you,” he said.
“Hey.” I slid my card across the bar. “I need to settle up. Early morning tomorrow, ya know.”
Something flickered across his face. His brows knit together, but for only a second before smoothing out once more. “Yeah, right, of course. Let me just—”
Before he could turn away, before I could think better of it, I leaned forward. “I had a really good time tonight.”