Just . . . not right.
Or not for us.
God, what was happening to me?
When had I become the guy who cared about meaning andnotgetting 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 theflush 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 youpushyourself toohardtoday? 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. “. . .visitto 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 topleasehis customers, give them everyinch. . . 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 ahappy endingto 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.”
