“Consider me caught up.”
After two more languid strokes of his tongue, Vox asks, “How about that drink now?”
“Lead the way,” I tell him, reaching down to grab our helmets.
We hold hands on the lift this time, and it’s the most peace I’ve felt in five years.
When we reach the restaurant,there’s a line outside, and I assume our mission is a lost cause until Vox marches right up to the host’s stand and starts chatting with the host like he knows him personally.
Hell, he probably does. Since he lives here year-round, he probably knows a lot of the staff.
“Hey, Freaky Zekey, how’s it hanging?” he asks the host while another employee looks on from his spot next to the heater.
“Vox, how many times have I told you not to call me that?” the host asks. He’s trying to act annoyed, but it’s really fucking hard not to be a little smitten with Vox, especially when you’re the object of his attention.
“No,” Vox corrects. “You told me not to call you Zekey-Dekey, which I didn’t, so you’re welcome.”
The man, whose actual name I’m guessing is Zeke, rolls his eyes.
“What do you want, Montgomery?”
“A table?—”
“You know you have to have a reservation,” Zeke says, cutting him off.
“If you’d let me finish,Zeke,I was going to say ‘in the bar.’ We’d like a table for two in thebar. Now, could you please check and see if you have one of those since they are first-come, first-served?”
Zeke looks down his nose at Vox before sliding his eyes to me. He looks me up and down before turning back to Vox. “How’d you manage to landhim? He looks like he would put up with exactly zero percent of your shit.”
Sweat breaks out on the nape of my neck, and I step forward to correct him.
“Oh, we aren’t—” but Vox holds up a hand before I can finish and leans an elbow on Zeke’s host stand.
“Not only am I incredibly charming, Zeke, but I can suck dick better than a Dyson sucks dirt, and I can ride one better than a porn star posing as a cowboy. Both of which you would know if you’d ever taken my advice and dumped that shit-for-brains asshole you call a boyfriend.”
Excuse me? Vox came on to this guy?The kid looks like he would play the lead inCatsand knock it out of the park. Doesn’t seem like Vox’s type.
Zeke swallows hard, and I briefly feel bad for him. He’s maybe five-foot-ten. He’s got nice teeth, but doesn’t seem to smile much. He has wire-rimmed glasses that went out of style a couple of years ago, and the poor guy has to stand outside in the freezing cold all day. Hedoeshave an outdoor heater rightbehind him, but still. He seems kind of lonely. The way he’s interacting with Vox makes me feel like this is the highlight of his day. And based on Vox’s last statement, maybe it is.
Nonetheless, the urge to scream ‘mine!’ is bubbling just below the surface. I take a step closer to Vox, ready to claim my territory if needed.
Zeke looks away and mumbles, “I told you, it’s complicated.” He quickly takes inventory of the available tables from the app on his iPad. “But I can seat you. You know the rules, though, so I’m assuming you have something on underneath?”
My eyebrows hit my hairline as I look at Vox.
“The restaurant doesn’t allow snow gear inside. So, we take our boots off and place them in the heated cubbies just inside the door. Snow pants, too.”
As soon as we strip down, follow Zeke to our table, and are left alone, I dive in.
“What was that all about?”
“Zeke’s a super nice dude. Nerdy little guy, but a total firecracker when he needs to keep guests in line. He’s dating this total meathead douchebag, who I suspect is manipulating the fuck out of him. I tried to get him to go out with me just so he would see he can do better, but to my absolute shock, it didn’t work.”
I choke back my laugh. Vox is exceedingly cocky, but he’s earned the right.
“I think it’s sweet you made the offer, but just so we’re clear, that offer is no longer on the table; am I correct?”
Vox runs his socked foot up the pant leg of my fleece-lined joggers. It’s weird to be in a fancy restaurant insocks.
