Chapter 12

My conversation with Cade ends up being longer than expected. I start with the grudging admittance that I signed over to be Blake's personal bitch, a job where the only perk it carries with it is the money.

Cade nods and pours me another shot – on the house.

Another shot turns into two more.

By the end of my fourth shot, I muster enough liquid courage to share with Cade the intimate moment shared between Blake and me earlier this afternoon. Ever playing the part of a dutiful bartender, Cade nods his head here and there, asking minimal questions only when they're appropriate.

I take out my wallet and slap a twenty on the black and white marbled surface.

"I told you they were on the house," Cade says with a friendly smile.

"I know," I say, pushing past the slight slur that's battling my ability to form an intelligent sentence. "I'm not paying you for the drinks. I'm paying you for listening to this stupid, gay bullshit."

Cade laughs again. It's something he does a lot, I notice. His approachable and light-hearted demeanor annoyed me at first, but now it's kind of growing on me. It's certainly more tolerable with a few drinks in me, too.

"Callum, if you knew the stories I heard working at a job like this, you would be blown away. I'd like to think it's just a part of my job duties – along with making drinks and having a physique that drive all the men crazy."

I scoff at his egotism and he smirks.

"Oh come on, Callum. Can you honestly tell me you haven't looked at me a single time throughout this entire conversation and thought of me as slightly attractive?"

"I mean. I've seen better. Not that I was looking," I quickly finish.

Cade chortles under his breath. The sound makes me crack a smile this time. A gentleman takes a seat two stools away from me. Cade holds up a finger to pause our conversation and steps to the side, asking the new customer what he'd like to drink.

I don't bother looking over; Cade confirmed my earlier suspicion that looks among the gay community come packed with a punch. Instead I keep my eyes forward, trained on the soft glint of light bouncing off the marble countertop.

After a few minutes, Cade returns and pushes my twenty away from him.

"Keep it," he says. "That way you can buy yourself a few drinks the next time you come in here."

I open my mouth to argue, but Cade cuts me off with another question – a question I really don't want to answer.

"So you claim that you've seen better while simultaneously admitting this Blake guy is seductive enough to get a kiss out of you. I have to ask – what's this sexy boss-man look like?"

I groan into my hands, cursing myself for coming into this bar in the first place. The point of coming here was to be around other gay men and learn to not be weird around them. So far, all that's been accomplished on my journey is chatting it up with a gay bartender about my issues with Blake and downing four shots of Vodka.

In other words?

Fucking. Pointless.

"Just throw me a bone," Cade urges. "Tall? Short? Dark hair? Big dick?"

"Oh shut up, you idiot," I mutter, and Cade throws his head back with laughter.

With how many times he's done this over the past hour, I'm surprised he doesn't have light whiplash. His question pulls an image of Blake into the forefront of my mind.

Blake and his lean torso and muscular arms.

His sculpted jaw and long eye lashes.

His deep voice and slender fingers.

His dark hair and strong presence.

His demanding eyes and stupid, soft lips.

"You're thinking about him right now, aren't you?" Cade asks.

I grunt.

"Ok, how about we start with this. What's his personality like? He a quiet guy? One of those quiet and pensive types? Or is he one of those cocky guys with confidence for days?"

"Neither," I respond. "He's a bossy, overbearing prick with more money than he knows what to do with. He's shallow, infuriating, fussy and -"

"Hmmm," a deep voice cuts in from behind me. "I think shallow is taking it a bit too far."

Cade's gaze flickers to the man standing behind me. His eyes widen. I can feel Blake moving closer to me, the heat of his torso almost touching my rigid back as I sit at the bar stool.

"Though I suppose I would be remiss to argue with the rest," Blake says, only inches away from my ear.

I slowly spin around and come face to face with him. Blake's eyes are focused on Cade, his expression emanating a powerful warning. Cade blushes and drops his gaze.

"What are you doing here?" I whisper to my boss, suddenly feeling like I'm a child who just got caught with my hand in the cookie jar.

Blake's expression smooths back to its neutral state. He rolls his shoulders and lifts his right hand, adjusting the cuff on his sleeve.

"I might ask you the same thing," he murmurs.

"I was...you didn't even..." I stammer.

Blake moves to the side, leaning his torso over the bar to get Cade's attention.

"Not that you asked," he says icily, "But I'll take a martini. Dry."

Cade nods, turning away from us and fumbling to get a clean glass from above the bar. Blake reaches into the chest pocket of his coat and pulls out two, crisp fifty dollar bills. He sets them on top of the counter, his slender fingers and practiced hands every bit as polished as the marble itself.

The fifty dollar bills sit next to my twenty, and Blake pushes the miniscule contribution back towards me. Without even asking, he knows it's mine. He knows it's mine and is silently telling me to put it back in my wallet. The gesture is patronizing.

"I'll cover your tab," Blake says.

A command rather than a kind offer.

"I didn't order any drinks," I argue through gritted teeth.

"Oh? Then why do I smell alcohol on your breath?"

"I don't know," I hiss. "Because you have no concept of personal space?"

Blake's jaw tightens, and from the corner of my eye I can see Cade grin – just ever so slightly. The twenty is taken off the table and forced into the palm of my hand.

"Put it away," Blake snaps. "Now."

I roll my eyes and fold the bill once before stuffing it into my pocket. So much for a night of fun and relaxation. Cade sets Blake's dry martini onto the bar with far less confidence than he had only five minutes ago. It's clear the bartender is every bit as intimidated of Mr. Blake Benson as everyone else who encounters him.

"This should cover our drinks," Blake says to Cade. "And please, keep the change."

Cade nods and thanks him under his breath. His fingers reach out to grab the money, and he looks like a puppy that has just been scolded by their owner. It's a defeating sight. Cade puts both of the bills into his bartending apron and leaves us to tend to his other customers.

Blake picks up his martini glass and holds it close to the light. His eyes scour the glass, inspecting its contents before he puts the rim to his lips. He drains the entire glass slowly and without pause. His tongue slides along his bottom lip when he's finished, and he sets it gently back onto the counter.

The sight of his tongue stirs unwanted desire through my groin. It's as if I can still taste him, feeling his tongue sliding against mine in a battle for dominance.

"How did you find me?" I ask, forcing the unwelcome thoughts away.

Blake hums low in his throat. "The gentleman at the front desk asked if I enjoyed my time at Francisco's. When I stopped by the room to change and saw you were gone, it was easy enough to piece things together."

"I didn't realize stalking was a part of your job description. Should I refer to you as Detective Benson from now on?"

Blake side-steps my witty response. "The question really shouldn't be how I found you, Callum, but rather what you're doing here in the first place."

"I wanted to get out. Needed some air."

"At a gay bar?"

"Yea, you got a problem with that?" I spit angrily.

The real reason behind my visit to Francisco's stays locked in the back of my mind. If I admitted the truth, it would only further prove to Blake that the kiss between us affected me.

Did it affect me?

I'd like to say no, but my groin says differently. Even having Blake stand so close to me is doing more than it should, stirring up a dark desire that I wish I could ignore.

Blake is quiet for a moment, his fingers tracing around the bottom of his martini glass. I can't tell if he's pissed or confused.

"Callum, I'd like to discuss with you what happened at the hotel earlier."

"I don't. Just drop it, Mr. Benson. Never happened."

This time when I respond with harsh words, Blake doesn't even flinch. He must be expecting this type of reaction, and his face remains impassive and neutral. Cade moves towards us again, his every step riddled with hesitation.

"Ah...can I get you two anything else?" he asks.

He almost sounds like a different person – far more guarded and professional than the jovial man who insisted I have a lemon drop on the house. Blake touches my leg, his fingers lightly tapping my knee to get my attention. It's an innocent touch, but even feeling his fingertips graze against my skin causes the lust in the pit of my stomach to quiver.

"Can I get you another drink before we leave?" Blake asks me.

"No. I'm done."

Blake nods and then leans closer to the bar, lowering his voice so just Cade and myself can hear what he's about to say.

"I'm a patient man," Blake says, and his voice is as sharp as steel. "But if I find out you are passing around free drinks to one of your customers again, consider yourself unemployed."

Cade blanches. The warning has its intended effect, and the bartender nods weakly. He mutters some semblance of an apology and walks away from us, Blake's words still racing through his mind, no doubt.

I hop off the bar stool and sneer under my breath.

"You're such a dick. He was only trying to be nice."

Blake ushers me towards the door to leave Francisco's. After that awkward altercation, I'm all too relieved to get the hell out of here.

"No," my boss corrects me under his breath. "He was trying to get laid."

I shove through the doors and turn to glance at him over my shoulder.

"So we're back to that again, huh sir?"

"Watch your tone, Mr. Greene."

I throw my hands up in the air. "So let me get this right. Even though I'm not gay, you have a homo boyfriend, and I'm definitely not interested in you, I'm not allowed to fuck anyone? And no one is allowed to be even slightly interested in fucking me?"

Blake sighs and pauses to adjust his stupid, fucking cufflink again. And like the idiot I am, I stop and wait for him. My nostrils flare with irritation. Blake smooths out his tie and gives me a small grin, one that is professional but carries with it an edge of irrefutable authority.

"That would be correct, Callum," Blake confirms without remorse. "At least, not on my watch."