Callahan pressed a quick kiss against the corner of Jace’s mouth and stood, trailing a fast-walking Sebastian back into the restaurant.
With a sigh, Remington sat in one of the empty seats across the table and reached for an already poured glass of water.
“You look like Sebastian ran you over with a steamroller,” Jace remarked.
“I feel like it.”
“Bad time?”
“Not until this morning,” Remington answered. “Things were good. They’ve been good. Better than good, I think, but he got a message from his brother and said something about calling an attorney, and then his entire demeanor changed.”
“So he turned into a St. George,” Jace mused.
“Is that what it was?”
“He and Callahan. Burdened with the obligation of a family name that counts.”
Remington wanted to tell him about the history of the Dockery family name. If for nothing else than to prove that upbringing didn’t warrant or require the kind of behavior Sebastian was exhibiting, but he also knew that wasn’t the point.
“That’s just part of being with them,” Jace continued, leaning across the table, “Now tell me about the sex.”
Remington’s entire face burned with embarrassment. “How did you know about that?”
“A lucky guess.”
He briefly wondered if Sebastian had been onto something earlier. If he looked different now that he’d had penetrative sex with another man.
“It was…I don’t know.” Remington pushed up his glasses and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have words for it. For him.”
At least, he didn’t have words for one version of Sebastian. This other version, he had a thesaurus full and many of them were not flattering.
“Good or bad? Or both.”
“Both, in general, but that?” Remington let out a quiet breath. “Remarkable.”
“Oooh.” Jace leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “A big word.”
“You know what it means.”
“So why does it look like someone kicked your puppy?” Jace asked.
Remington sighed and shook his head. “It was…a ride.”
Jace snort-laughed, and Remington frowned.
“You know what I meant,” he said, reaching across the table and smacking Jace in the arm. “Sebastian is just so…not me.”
“I know.”
“He’s so flippant? That’s not the word. He’s…”
“Thirsty,” Sebastian answered, sliding into the empty seat next to Remington and pushing his sunglasses down to cover his eyes. He had a bottle of champagne in one hand and a glass in the other. Remington looked around for orange juice and was only moderately surprised to not find any.
He couldn’t be mad.
He’d told Sebastian he could drink if he wanted.
Because this was just for fun.
