Chapter 49 #2
I kiss his cheek and he shakes his head. Then we finally sit down. Anthony immediately bumps my shoulder. “I'm really happy for you.”
The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. “Thanks, bestie.”
Then I glance around the table. Anthony and Chance. My sisters. Jen. And…
“Jason. Deacon. Good to see you.”
I lean across the table to bump fists with both of them. Jason grins. Deacon gives his usual expressionless nod.
As I move to settle back into my chair, Spence's hand finds the back of my thigh, right below my right ass cheek, and squeezes. I drop down quickly—before I knock over glasses with my hardening dick.
Across from us, Jason suddenly stands. He’s wearing a black corset with no shirt underneath, his biceps bulging.
Three rows of silver pearls hang on the front of it, and he’s wearing a cuff on his left wrist that covers half his arm.
His tight black pants and silver pearl necklace complete the look.
“Well,” he announces gruffly, “I'm going to go flirt with that guy at table nine who's been eye-fucking me all night.”
He glances down at Deacon. “Is that okay with you, Mr. Bodyguard? Or are you going to have a shit-fit and throw me over your shoulder like a caveman?”
Deacon doesn't say a word. One side of his mouth curls upward. His jaw clenches.
Jason waits. Nothing.
“Whatever.” He tosses his napkin onto his chair. “This baseball ass is not going to waste tonight.” He leans down closer to Deacon’s ear and—loud enough for us all to hear— says, “And I’m wearing the purple ones tonight.”
Then he stalks away.
The second he's gone, Deacon closes his eyes. His jaw clenches tighter, and I’m pretty sure his eye twitched.
I lean toward Anthony. “What exactly is happening there?”
Anthony smirks. “After Jason came out publicly, we received some serious threats.”
I gulp.
“So, we assigned Deacon to personally oversee his security in Atlanta. Not that we had a choice. Jason wouldn’t accept anyone else.”
“Okay...”
Anthony's grin widens. “Jason has been shamelessly pursuing him ever since.”
Chance overhears and laughs. “That's putting it mildly.” He claps Deacon on the shoulder. “But Deek's a professional. He refuses to cross any lines while he's responsible for anyone’s safety. Besides, I don’t think Deek has sex.”
Deacon just grunts and Chance laughs.
“Jason's relentless,” Anthony adds.
From beside me, Spence looks up from his conversation with Jen. “Sounds familiar.” He gives me a pointed look.
I answer with a wolfish grin.
“What even is that?” Spence shakes his head. “Is it an athlete thing?”
Every athlete at the table answers simultaneously:
“Yes.”
The table dissolves into laughter.
Cricket raises her hand. “Can somebody send one of those relentless athletes my way?”
I point at her. “Nope.”
Cricket flips her hair. “Try and stop me.”
More laughter.
“They’re actually passing through before heading up to Seattle,” Anthony adds. “Jason got traded.”
I open my mouth to respond, but Deacon stands, huffs out some kind of primal noise, and stalks off. I turn my head and he’s barreling straight toward Jason.
Hm. Chance may be right that Deacon doesn’t have sex, but I’m willing to bet he wants to. There was want in that big man’s eyes. Trust me, I know the look.
Dinner arrives shortly after. The kids wanted to make a surf and turf menu with halibut cooked in parchment with butter, white wine, and lemon, filets, potato pavé, and roasted garlic Brussels sprouts. Watching everyone enjoy the menu we'd planned makes my heart swell.
While we’re eating, Anthony leans toward Spence. “I think you should work from home the rest of the week.” He makes air quotes around “work from home”. “We'll call if we need you.” Then he winks.
Spence groans. “No. I can come in.”
Anthony points his fork at him. “I wasn't asking.”
“Thank you,” Spence says, genuinely.
Anthony nods, then continues, “However, Chance and I are hosting family dinner Sunday at ours.” He points between us. “We expect both of you there. Bring Tyler and your sisters.”
Something catches in my chest. Family dinner. I love when we do those. Knowing that Spence will get to be a part our nutty little “framily” hits me right in the feels.
I clear my throat. “Just let me know what I can bring.”
The rest of the evening flies by. Fashion.
Music. Laughter. More than three hundred thousand dollars raised for the center.
Tyler and his collection receive a standing ovation.
As he should. His black-and-silver designs own the room.
Towering shoes. Wild headpieces. Sharp tailoring.
Every model commands the runway while classic ‘90s catwalk tracks like Vogue, Too Funky, and of course, Free Your Mind, blast through the ballroom. The crowd is completely captivated.
But watching Tyler take it all in, peeking out from stage right, might be my favorite part of the night. By the time the final applause dies down, everyone is glowing. Especially him.
After dinner, which Spence barely ate, and the show, Spence leans over and whispers, “I've had to stare at your fucking nipples in that mesh top all night long. If you don't take me home right now, we're going to have a problem.”
I jump up from my chair, grab the chef coat and hat, and say, “Welp, thanks for coming everyone. We have to leave.” Then I grab Spence by the hand and haul him away from the table and through the crowd toward the exit with one thought on repeat in my brain…
This feels right.