Chapter 5
“The place looks great,” Gabriel enthused, pulling Shaw into a quick hug, and then Jackson. “It’s gonna be a huge success.”
Ren followed suit, hugging both of them. “Anything we can do to help, just let us know,” he said. “Of course, you already have a ringer in your back pocket,” he added, in a teasing voice, referring to Ross.
Maybe he and Gabe were fighting, and he’d told Jake—and Ren knew Gabe had told Sean, because Gabe told Sean everything—but they’d never dare show anything but a united front in front of their friends.
They’d come to the Fickle Cup opening night party in an Uber in almost complete silence, but the moment they’d gotten out, Ren had found himself smiling and chatting with Gabe like nothing was wrong, and his cousin had followed suit.
If he was going to keep up the pretense, he was going to need something stronger than a beer. He eyed the bar out of the corner of his eye as Shaw went into proud boyfriend rhapsodies about the new menu Ross had designed for the bar.
“And wait til you try the stuffed mushrooms,” Shaw finished up, beaming proudly.
“Stuffed mushrooms?” Gabe sounded skeptical, and it annoyed Ren that he knew exactly what his cousin was thinking.
Stuffed mushrooms weren’t exactly fresh thinking, but then, it was Ross. He could work miracles with anything.
Shaw wasn’t wrong about that particular fact.
“We’ll have to give them a try,” Ren said, patting Shaw on the arm. “Now I’m sure you’re super busy, so we’re going to get out of your hair and grab a drink.”
“Enjoy yourselves,” Shaw said, “and thanks for all your support.”
Shaw turned away to greet some more newcomers, and he and Gabe wandered over to the bar.
“I want to know what Ross did to stuffed mushrooms,” Gabe said as he looked at the chalkboard menu, scrawled artistically next to the gleaming glass shelves of liquor bottles behind the bar. “Whatever it is, it’s sure to be brilliant.”
“Of course it is,” Ren said. Nope, he was not bitter at all.
He loved Ross. He loved Shaw. He had no problem acknowledging they were really good at what they did.
But it would be nice to be given credit for his own little share of brilliance, instead of having Gabe trying to dismiss it all the damn time.
“You sure you’re okay?” Gabe said, turning towards him.
“I’m fine,” Ren said. “Totally fine.” He leaned over the bar. When he’d looked in the mirror before they’d left the loft, he’d known he looked his best. But from the way the bartender’s eyes met his, Ren knew he looked his best.
“Oh, hey there. How’s it going? What can I get you?” the bartender asked, walking over immediately.
Ren could feel Gabe’s eye roll, but it wasn’t like he was going to complain that being with Ren usually meant they got great service.
“I’ll have the house old-fashioned,” Ren said.
“Good choice,” the bartender said, smiling at him. Then he turned to Gabe, the brightness of that smile dimming just a bit. “And you?”
And okay, Ren could acknowledge a lifetime of being second fiddle could make Gabe a little bitter himself. But then he’d met someone he really loved, who loved him back.
That had given him confidence; unfortunately, now it was that same confidence that was wreaking havoc on their normally good-natured partnership.
“I’ll have a beer, uh, I guess that IPA on the end,” Gabe said, gesturing to the last tap handle on the right.
The guy went to get their drinks, and Gabe turned to Ren.
“Don’t you dare complain that the attention gets old,” he said, a grumpier edge to his voice than normal.
“You enjoy the attention. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be all trussed up in your James Dean chic.
” Gabe gestured again, this time at Ren’s outfit.
Tight black jeans, black boots, and a paper-thin white t-shirt, all topped off with his favorite leather moto jacket. Gabe liked to call it his James Dean chic, and normally, it was funny. But tonight, Ren wasn’t laughing.
“Trussed up? I’m not a chicken about to be roasted,” Ren pointed out.
“Is this for anyone in particular or just to make the bartender pant after you?” Gabe asked. “Or maybe Seth?”
“I don’t care about the stupid bartender,” Ren said, ignoring Gabe’s jab about Seth, though now his voice was grumpy. He hated fighting with Gabriel, mostly because it never happened.
Also because they knew each other way too well, and knew just where to stab for maximum effect.
Gabe sighed. “I’m sorry, okay? I don’t want to fight with you.”
It was so like what he’d just been thinking, but Ren wasn’t surprised.
“You calling pax?” Ren arched his eyebrow.
“Tomorrow, we’ll go over the menu, make some decisions. I think we can both get what we want,” Gabe said.
The bartender arrived again, setting their drinks in front of them on the shining, polished bar.
“No charge,” he said, winking. “Open bar tonight, for the opening party.”
Gabe grumbled something about overhead, but Ren shrugged. He didn’t mind paying for drinks, though not paying for his drinks was nice too, though hardly unusual.
Ren stuffed a five-dollar bill into the tip jar, and took a sip. It was a good drink, but then Shaw had been a bartender for a long time, and he wouldn’t suffer idiots pouring behind his bar.
He spotted Sean before Gabe did, as he weaved his way through the crowd.
It was hard to be annoyed with him—or with his cousin—when Sean’s expression was so soft and happy, and when Gabe spotted him? He just fucking beamed.
“Hey,” Gabe said, gathering his boyfriend into his arms. “Isn’t this place great?”
“I wouldn’t expect any less,” Sean said. Turned his head slightly. “Hey, Ren, how’s it going?”
“If you’re asking if Gabe and I are still fighting, I don’t think so . . .” Ren wrinkled his nose. “What do you think?” he asked Gabe.
“I never wanted to fight in the first place,” Gabe said, self-righteous as always. Ren rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, we’ll hash it out tomorrow,” Ren agreed. Not intending to give any further than he wanted to.
“Good,” Sean said, smiling warmly. “I’m glad to hear it.”
The thing was, Ren didn’t even dislike his cousin’s boyfriend. In fact, he’d always liked Sean.
“Come on, let’s get a drink, and see if we can find Ross and some of those mushrooms,” Gabe said.
More to Sean than to Ren, which didn’t surprise him at all.
He’d known coming with them would feel a little like a third wheel.
But there were tons of people here that he knew, from the Funky Cup to the Food Truck Warriors.
There were Alexis and Jackson and Ross, over in the corner, with Tony and Lucas, and Ren swore he heard Chase’s booming laughter, trickling down the staircase that led to the rooftop bar.
He’d probably be up there with Tate and however many Riptide players he’d brought with him for the evening.
Ren could join any of those groups, and they’d welcome him, because they were his friends, too.
But then when he turned to pick up his drink and head over to one of them, out of the corner of his eye he saw a guy, standing by himself by one of the high-top bar tables.
Ren almost turned away, because of course he wasn’t really alone. Lennox and Ash would show up, and he’d have people to spend the evening with.
He didn’t need to rescue Seth.
He was into Jake; very into Jake.
But somehow his feet carried him over there anyway, drink in his hand, and heart in his throat, remembering the last time they’d spoken, over a week ago, when Seth had told him that sleeping together would be a very bad idea.
It wasn’t any more of a good idea now, Ren knew that.
Yet there he was, tipping his drink towards Seth—towards Seth’s identical drink, sitting on the table in front of him.
“I didn’t know you liked old-fashioneds,” Ren said.
Seth didn’t look upset that he’d come over. Didn’t look like he wished Ren would leave immediately.
Maybe if they couldn’t sleep together . . . they could be friends?
Ren dismissed that ridiculous thought almost immediately.
You couldn’t be friends with someone you wanted so badly you burned with it.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Seth said.
It was honest, like so much of what Seth said, and it might’ve even been a bit mean, but there was a soft regret in his eyes now. Like that was all he’d wanted—for them to know each other.
“You say that like I didn’t try to get to know you.” Ren grinned, and the softness in those gray eyes, such a cool contrast to Seth’s auburn bright hair, sharpened a bit.
Seth leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You’re right,” he said. And his voice was gravelly deep, like he was thinking about it right now.
Lifting his drink to his lips, he tried to wet his suddenly dry mouth, but several gulps later, the strong alcohol beginning to swim through his system, Ren couldn’t help but wonder if that hadn’t been a tactical mistake.
The bone-deep pull he felt towards this man was still there.
And now, it was worse, exacerbated by the booze he’d drunk.
He put his mostly empty glass down. “I think if we both agree I’m right about most things, we’d be better off.”
“Sure,” Seth said.
Ren tossed the rest of his drink back. Met the eyes of the bartender, and lifted his glass. The guy was eager, like a puppy. Even though Ren was already over here, flirting with someone else.
Or trying not to flirt with someone else.
Because that would be a waste, wouldn’t it?
“And,” he said, “what I think is that we should be friends.”
Seth looked skeptical. “Really? You have friends? Just friends?”
Ren shot him a glare. An Italian-flavored glare that cut most everyone else down to size, but on Seth, it just glanced right off him. “Of course I have friends.”
“Of course you do. Like the bartender over there, falling over himself so he can get you a fresh drink,” Seth said with amusement.
“I didn’t encourage him.” Ren heard the frostiness in his voice, but the truth was, his insides were on fire.
It would be so easy to lean forward and just . . .
Yeah, he wasn’t doing that.