Tris studies me for a moment but finally dismisses me with a wave. “It’s fine, big guy.”
I scrunch my nose at the nickname because now all I hear is Peter Parker’s melodic voice whispering in my ear.
“When you just disappeared, I was worried that someone might have mugged you.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m literally the guy who people think will mug them, Tris.”
“Okay, humble brag.” He gives me a thoughtful look. “But your big muscles and resting dick face do give you an alluring don’t-fuck-with-me vibe.”
“Resting dick face?”
“You’re not pretty enough for resting bitch face.” Tristan’s phone buzzes with a text. “That’s Jeremy.” Tris looks up and gives me a serious look. “Please be nice.”
“Who’s Jeremy?”
“Jesus, Marcus. My designer friend.”
“Oh, right. And ouch. I’m always nice.”
“That’s a damn lie. I swear to God, Marcus Conner, if you scare him away with your resting dick face, I will quit.”
“I really don’t think resting dick face is a thing,” I grouse.
“Whatever. Just try to be less . . . you.”
I give him a tolerant smile before he stands and walks toward the back door. I hear low voices, and then Tris reenters the dining room.
“Marcus, this is Jeremy.” Tristan gestures at the man to his right, and my fucking heart stops. “Jeremy, this is Marcus, the pub owner, and, hopefully, your new client.”
Jeremy—not Peter—pushes silver hair from his forehead and eyes me curiously. We pause, staring at each other, as if waiting for the other to show recognition first.
Fucking fuck.
Inside, I panic. Like, full-blown meltdown.
My body feels hot, and I’m pretty sure my palms have started sweating. My brain misfires completely, stuck on the fact that not only did I let this man, whom I’ve been obsessed with foryears, blow me, but I left him on his knees in a dirty club hallway.
And now he’s here.
In front of me.
And I have to work with him like that didn’t happen.
Fucking fuck.
Tris eyes me aggressively, and I swallow my panic like a big boy. Externally, I’m as cool as an awkward cucumber as I stand and extend my hand. “Erm, hello, Jeremy.” Tris gives Jeremy an apologetic look. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Shit. It’s sweaty. Why did I do that?
But before I can pull it back, Jeremy walks forward, slides his smaller hand into mine, and shakes it with a warm smile that lights my insides on fire.
Get yourself under control.
“Hi, Marcus.” His voice is like fucking music. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”
I nod mutely, distracted by the way his rolled-up shirt sleeves show off the creamy white skin of his forearm. A bracelet with a few teal stones dangles from his wrist, and his nails are painted dark purple.
Not silver like last time.
