A scan of the room reveals that all of the important people are here, including the mayor, the city manager, and the DA. I don’t know what Elijah said to get these people here, but he and Penny have done an outstanding job with the guest list. I’m grateful for it because it’ll mean a lot for combat vets to see the mayor’s presence here.
Of all the Austin personalities and dignitaries showing up, no one can outdo Jean-Pierre, who is wearing one of his over-the-top suits. He’d given me the name of the designer, but I can’t remember it. All I know is that he’s wearing a velvet-patterned fabric that is usually saved for curtains, and that it looks better on him than it should.
As the night progresses, people approach him, talking about what he is wearing, talking about vets’ issues. I guess it doesn’t really matter how you begin the conversation, as long as you can get people to talk about the things that matter.
“Ah, shit, Dennis is here.”
I startle when I see Elijah at my hip. I brush his hair from his forehead. “I’m going to have to put a bell on you.”
He smiles, his eyes molesting every inch of my body. “In that suit? You can put whatever you want to on me. I know I said this in your apartment, but you look so handsome tonight.”
I slink my arm around him for a quick hug. “Thanks, you do, too. And don’t worry about Dennis—he’s been warned to stay on his best behavior on pain of death.”
Elijah hugs himself, a gesture that I find far too fucking adorable. “Well, good. I won’t have to be fending off his octopus arms all night long.”
I turn to him, knowing that I haven’t done a great job of keeping the anger off my face. “Are you saying that man put his hands on you again? Even after we talked to him?”
Elijah shakes his head. “No, not really. But there are times when he’s awfully clumsy, and I suspect he’s doing it on purpose.”
I’m going to rip his fucking face off.
I clench my jaw, hoping I don’t crack a molar. “That is fucking unacceptable. That’s it, he’s out.”
Elijah puts his hand on me. “Nick, now is not the time for a scene. Tonight is about the vets. Let’s stay super focused on that and let the drama play out later. Besides, Jean-Pierre is here, and we can have him run interference for us.”
I look for that asshole and see that he is joking with Jean-Pierre. I know that they work together and are good friends, which I have a hard time figuring out. Dude is a tool. I mean, maybe I just have the guy wrong, but I don’t like it when he comes sniffing around Elijah.Mine, I think to myself possessively.
* * *
Elijah
Look, I’m a modern man, but seeing Nick in his tux quietly getting more and more jealous about Dennis and his come-ons? Let’s just say that even though this afternoon’s play wasthorough, I still want to be ass-up in his bed tonight.
Moving on from that douchebag, I check out the unbearable hotness of Jean-Pierre Sehene in that suit of his, and I’m surprised that Jake isn’t here tonight. He’s talked about being in recovery, and I wonder if he didn’t want to be around all of this alcohol.
I hug Jules and thank her for making it perfect for the vets. Once the dinner is over, Penny and the mayor of Austin get up to say a few words about the HVA, along with some statistics that are, frankly, depressing. After that, Nick goes to the makeshift platform and is charming and funny and passionate about explaining why we do what we do here at Wrecked. The Bash Brothers then spot him as he lifts a ridiculous amount of weight, and what could be a circus sideshow ends up being an impressive display of strength and flexibility for a proud Navy SEAL. The audience loves him, and I clap loudly, so proud of him.
After the speeches, the DJ flips the script on the music, sending up some awesome ’80s pop. Nick and I are sitting at the table, watching everyone have fun. I look over at him, knowing it’s a lost cause.
Eh,I don’t really believe in lost causes.
“Come on, Nick! Let’s go dance!”
“I don’t dance.” He turns away from the dance floor to take a long pull of his beer.
“I bet if you finish your beer, you’ll want to dance with me.”
“You got five dollars on you?” he asks, entirely serious.
I don’t necessarily have to fully understand the whole betting thing to be completely tickled by it, even when it involves cash I don’t have. That said, I don’t plan on losing. “Okay, fine. I bet you five bucks that I can get you dancing on this dance floor in the space of twenty minutes.”
“Deal.” He settles into his chair, as though daring me to drag him to the dance floor.
I check out the action, then turn to him and smile, supremely confident. The DJ is absolutely killing it with the mix he’s chosen, and Roly is leading the dance floor hijinks. The man has a backside that won’t quit, and his infectious smile and indefatigable style encourage more than one wallflower to join him. He also manages to dance with damn near every bear in the place.
Finally seeing my opportunity, I get up and walk to the middle of the dance floor and begin a slow hip-and-shoulder roll to “Raspberry Beret.” Right on cue, the Bash Brothers join me, the bi one pulling me into his arms, the other one shimmying up against my back. To be fair, he might be bi, too. We keep it PG-ish, you know, for charity. Gotta say, it doesn’t suck to get my groove on with approximately five hundred pounds of holy muscled hotness. Not surprisingly, we get about thirty seconds into the song and I feel a tug on my arm that pulls me out of their cozy embrace.
“Oh, hey. What’s up, Nick?” I bat my eyes at him because I know he thinks they’re pretty.
