“We are…?” Julien leaned forward, but Marcus just waved his hand. “Listen, Marcus, it’s just an idea. A possibility. If you’re not completely sure you want it, there’s no pressure.”
“I know. I think I want to think about it.”
“Sure. Doesn’t have to be tonight,” Julien said. “Chances are, with that much food and after the flight, it’ll be much better if we recover first.”
“Timur leaves soon, though,” Marcus said.
“If it doesn’t happen, it doesn’t happen. No obligations, okay?” Julien picked up his spoon and attacked the tiramisu. “And besides, if it’s something you guys want to do, it doesn’t have to happen tonight.”
Timur said something so quiet Marcus probably wouldn’t have understood if it had been in English.
Julien’s shoulders sagged a little. “Yeah. That’s true. Saturday.”
Wasn’t this conversation a roller coaster. Mundane. Goofing around. Undeniable sexual undertones. Outright suggestions of a damn orgy. And…Saturday.
Fuck.
Marcus took a bite of tiramisu but didn’t really taste it.
“What Julien said, though.” Chris set his fork on his empty plate and pushed it away. “The offer is there, and we’re more than happy to, um…” He hesitated. “The offer’s there, okay? No pressure.”
“Sure.” Marcus smiled tightly. “It’s definitely a thought. I could certainly think of worse guys to go to bed with.”
Chris laughed. “Oh, you’re such a flatterer.”
Marcus chuckled. Julien and Timur exchanged a few soft words in French, and Timur’s expression was…odd. Guarded. Like there was something on his mind that wouldn’t fit into any of the languages he spoke.
But then he dropped his gaze and took another bite of the tiramisu, a dessert he’d seemed to grow quite fond of lately.
I wonder if he’ll miss stuff like that when he goes.
Marcus sipped his wine. “Well, as far as this evening goes, we should probably let the two of you get some sleep. Now that you’ve eaten, all that jet lag is probably going to catch up with you something fierce.”
Chris groaned. “Yeah, and I have to work tomorrow.”
“Already?” Marcus asked. “Liam wouldn’t give you one more night off?”
“Nope. Already burned all my vacation time. Some of us don’t get a month’s leave and still have time to spare.” He gave the two soldiers a pointed look.
Timur grunted softly. “American companies. Slave drivers.”
Chris shrugged. “At least they don’t march our feet off.”
“No,” Timur said. “They just do it slowly. Too much work, no holidays.”
“He’s got a point.” Marcus grimaced. “A few more years behind that bar, I’ll be walking around on stumps where my ankles used to be.” All four of them laughed at that image, and Marcus was grateful for the shift in tone and topic. The undercurrent was still there—he had no doubt it would be a while before Julien and Chris went to sleep tonight, and Timur probably wouldn’t let him get all the way to the bedroom—but the awkwardness was gone. Good enough.
As they bantered about the horrors and highlights of their respective jobs, Marcus looked around at the three men sitting with him, letting his gaze land on each of them for a few seconds before moving on to the next.
Each on his own, with no one else in the picture, he’d absolutely sleep with anyone in this room. And he’d had threesomes before, but…four? Intimidating but intriguing.
Right then, Julien and Timur exchanged a look, and probably some telepathy that was just between them. Jealousy flared in Marcus’s chest, though he quickly suppressed it. Hell, maybe it would be good to see him with another man. Especially one who’d been intimate with him before. Then Marcus could reassure himself that everything he had with Timur was just sex and some conversation. He imagined nothing would drive that point home quite as efficiently as watching another man drive into Timur.
That thought made his arms prickle, and it was not jealousy that time.
Oh yes, getting into bed with Chris, Julien and Timur was intriguing. And tempting.
But not tonight.
Chapter Fifteen
Marcus wasn’t sure if bartending was going to destroy his feet like they’d all joked last night, but he was fairly certain Timur might kill him if given half the chance. As Marcus set up his station at Wilde’s, his body ached all over. A good kind of ache, of course—Timur had been insatiable last night. As predicted, they hadn’t even made it through the door.
Seeing his old comrade must’ve turned him on.
Marcus tried to banish that thought—Timur was probably just turned on by the idea of the four of them fooling around together. The fact that he hadn’t seen Julien since the wedding, and the two of them had been talking nonstop in French from the time they met up at the airport—didn’t mean anything. Nor did the fact that, when the subject of a foursome came up, he’d directed that gleam in his eye at Julien as much as Marcus.
Right. Nothing to do with Julien. Not at all.
Which was good. It meant they could detach easily come Saturday night, and once all the muscles in Marcus’s body had recovered from the mercenary invasion, he could find someone else to share his bed.
The front door of the club opened, letting in some daylight and blinding all the bartenders for a second. Like vampires, they all averted their eyes until the door was shut again, and when Marcus’s vision had recovered, he saw Chris heading up to the bar.
“Running late?” Marcus asked with a grin.
“Just a bit.” Chris rolled his eyes. “Fucking traffic. At least Julien’s going to pick up Timur, or I’d have been driving back and forth all day.”
Marcus tensed. “He’s picking up…”
“Yeah, remember?” Chris peered at him like he’d lost his mind. “Julien promised him last night he’d take him to Seattle Art Museum today, so he dropped me off here and went to get him.”
“Oh. Right.” Marcus swallowed. “I, uh…”
Chris stopped in front of Marcus’s station and folded his arms on the bar. “You okay? I mean, I know things got a little awkward last night.” His gaze darted around, probably making sure Sam wasn’t within earshot. “I’d blame some of it on the wine, but I don’t know if that really fixes it.”
“No, no, it’s fine.” Is good. “The suggestion caught me by surprise, but…”
Chris lowered his chin a bit and looked at Marcus through his lashes. “The offer’s still open, by the way. It’s totally up to you and Timur, but I didn’t want you to think it was off the table because you didn’t jump on it.”
“I know.” Marcus smiled. “And I’m… I haven’t ruled it out, let’s put it that way.”
Chris grinned. “Good. Because between you and me”—he leaned closer and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper—“Julien is very much on board.”
I’m sure he is.
“Is he? And what about you?”
“I wouldn’t have brought it up if I weren’t.” Chris winked and then pushed himself away from the bar, but hesitated. “Hey, uh, any chance I could ride with you tonight? It just occurred to me you said you were going to see Timur tonight. If I can hitch a ride, that’ll save Julien a trip.”
“Sure. No problem.”
“Awesome. Thanks,” Chris said. “Anyway, I’d better get my station prepped, or Liam is going to fire me.”
Marcus laughed. “Yeah, get to work. Slacker.”
Chris flipped him off before disappearing into the back room. Alone, Marcus rested his hands on the bar and inhaled slowly. The reassurance that the invite was still there didn’t help him relax at all. If it had been a one-time, now-or-never thing, he could’ve regretted it or not, but wouldn’t be sweating with indecision.
Could be fun. Why the hell not?
>
Assuming there was anything left of Timur and Julien after they’d spent an entire evening together. Alone. Most likely with Chris’s blessing.
Marcus’s fingers tightened on the edge of the bar, but he slowly released a breath and then pulled his hands back. He wasn’t going to obsess over this. He had a job to do, and he didn’t have any claim to Timur, so there was no reason for him to be jealous and territorial over the idea of Timur and Julien making up for some lost time while Chris and Marcus were at work. No reason at all for him to imagine them getting rough with each other. A couple of trained, rough-and-tumble soldiers. In bed. Naked. Fucking like they weren’t going to see each other for a while.
I need more ice.
Marcus shoved his hand into the ice bin to get the scoop out, and even that sudden cold didn’t bring his body temperature down. Goddamn. With thoughts of Timur and Julien on his mind, knowing they could be having sex right now…
….this was going to be one long night.
Oh hell. He couldn’t decide if he was so jealous he couldn’t see straight, or so turned on he was about to go up in flames.
Marcus shivered as he headed into the back room to get some ice he didn’t actually need. On the way, a thought crossed his mind: And I said no to a foursome with them? What the fuck was I thinking?
He paused in the back room, tapping his fingers on the empty ice bucket.
Hell, what hadn’t he been thinking? That it could make things weird with Chris at work. That he might see that Timur was more into Julien than him. That he might fuck things up with the closest friends he’d made since Ray had gotten their social circle in the divorce.
Sex with the three of them would have been hot. No two ways about it. But would it be worth it?
“Forget what you’re doing?” Kieran’s voice made him jump.
“What? No.” Marcus stood aside, letting Kieran step in to get some ice. “Just, um…” Okay, yeah, he’d forgotten what he was doing. He muffled a cough and set the empty bucket beside the ice bin. “Just debating whether I needed more ice or not.”
Kieran glanced at him, an eyebrow quirked with amused skepticism. “God forbid you wind up with too much ice, right?”
“Yeah. Something like that.” Marcus gestured back at his station. “I, uh, need to get back to…” That. Prepping. Whatever I was doing. He started to go.
“Hey, Marcus.”
He turned back.
Kieran lifted his own bucket out of the ice bin, cupping the edge carefully to keep the cubes from spilling on the floor. “You okay? You’ve been a little, I don’t know, out of sorts all week.”
Marcus half shrugged, wondering when a gesture like that had started requiring so much effort. “Yeah, I’m good.”
The amusement in Kieran’s expression was long gone, but the skepticism was present and accounted for. His eyebrows rose again, and he studied Marcus.
Please don’t push. Don’t ask. I don’t want to go there tonight.
Then Kieran shrugged with a lot more ease than Marcus had. “All right. Well, if you need anything, just holler, okay?”
“Okay. Will do. Thanks.” He waited until Kieran had disappeared out of the room before releasing his breath. God. If he was going to be this distracted and spun up over that foursome, maybe he should’ve gone through with it after all. At least then his inability to concentrate would be over real orgasms instead of imagined ones.
Real ones, like the ones Timur and Julien were probably giving each other right now.
Marcus shivered. He headed back to his station, and, goddamn, he couldn’t get Timur and Julien out of his mind. What they might be doing right now. How they must sound, exchanging filthy French comments in between gasping for breath. All that brute strength and years’ worth of training for one of the toughest military forces in the world—Marcus could only imagine the things those two could do to each other. He swore if he saw one bruise on Timur’s body, he’d lose his mind. And not out of jealousy—at just the thought of someone matching Timur’s ability to be so deliciously rough.
A bottle of rum nearly slipped out of Marcus’s sweaty hands, and he carefully set it down in the well he’d been absentmindedly organizing. Enough of this. Jesus. He had to concentrate. In fifteen minutes, the club’s doors would open, and the room would be filled with men looking for drinks and cock. Not necessarily in that order, but by and large, they were picky about both. Which meant Marcus needed to bring his A game, stop obsessing over Timur and pour the booze properly for the men looking to get laid.
But do I only have to provide their alcohol?
If he was turned on by the idea of Julien and Timur rolling around naked together, he might as well put that simmering arousal to good use. He hadn’t planned to start perusing the Wilde’s clientele until Timur was on a plane and gone, but would it really hurt to start checking guys out now? He didn’t have to pick anyone up—he was meeting Timur when his shift ended, after all—but he could at least look.
Marcus grinned to himself, scanning the room that was minutes away from being packed full of gorgeous, horny, single men. That was the solution. All he needed was a little flirtation. Maybe catch someone’s eye. Get a phone number or two. Some exchanged glances, maybe that fluttery anticipation and the hope that someone might show up again on Saturday night.
He still had Timur for a couple more nights, but Timur had Julien today. Marcus needed to give himself some kind of hope that his sex life would in fact continue after Timur moved on.
When it was time for the club to open, Liam unlocked the doors. The bouncers took their positions. The bartenders were waiting.
The doors opened.
And it was go time.
Though it was only Thursday night, the thin early evening crowd quickly turned into a packed house. Which meant plenty of options for a bartender whose schedule was about to be very, very clear.
A guy strolled up to Marcus’s station and looked him right in the eye, a deliciously flirty little grin on his full lips. “Moscow mule, please?”
“Coming right up.” Marcus returned the grin, giving the guy a conspicuous down-up. Wow, he was gorgeous. Might’ve been a bodybuilder. That kind of muscle definition didn’t happen by accident, especially not when it was wrapped in a sleeveless shirt at least one size too small, and he didn’t have any of the telltale signs of steroid use.
And as the guy rested his arms on the bar and craned his neck, he gave Marcus a similar down-up look, his grin broadening as he did, and Marcus felt a tingle of…
Nothing.
He felt nothing. By all rights, that sweeping glance should’ve been enough to stir something below Marcus’s belt, but everything—his smile, his flirty banter—felt rehearsed. The fake-but-convincing pleasantries bartenders used when they weren’t feeling it, since flirting often meant the difference between getting a tip or not.
Marcus made the drink on autopilot, and the guy paid, handing the money over and making sure to let his fingers brush Marcus’s. One more exchanged glance, and he and his drink were gone.
Marcus didn’t have time to watch him go—a ridiculously sexy blond guy was waiting, and the game continued. He too was flirty—most of the guys were, whether they were attracted to the bartender or not, because the right smile to the right man could score him a free drink. Flirt, mix, pay, next.
Almost every customer he’d served so far was hot, or at least moderately attractive, but no one had piqued Marcus’s interest yet. Not even close. Which was weird. Maybe he was getting picky in his old age, but it wasn’t very long ago he couldn’t go an entire shift without someone making him seriously consider stepping out for a back-alley blowjob. The men in this place were usually irresistible. Kieran had joked more than once that Adonis himself would have a hard time standing out here. But, tonight, the crowd was…meh.
What the hell, Wilde’s?
&nb
sp; Marcus finished mixing a rum and coke, and faced the next customer in line.
He was tall, stubble darkening his jaw and the disco lights picking out the intense blue of his eyes, and he leaned over the bar as he said, “You the guy who makes those Green Beasts?”
And just like that, someone may as well have shoved a handful of ice down the front of Marcus’s trousers. Only one man came to mind when Marcus thought of those absinthe-laden concoctions, and suddenly everything about tonight made sense.
The bodybuilder hadn’t interested him because he was pretty-boy powerful instead of ruggedly toned by hard work and out of necessity.
The blond’s features hadn’t been interesting.
And this blue-eyed dude in search of a Green Beast was too…too…
Too not Timur.
Just like every man in this room whose shoulders weren’t broad enough, eyes weren’t green enough and skin wasn’t olive enough. Marcus had never been exceptionally picky, but tonight, there wasn’t a single man within these walls who’d do it for him, because the only one he was interested in was probably balls-deep in the legionnaire comrade who’d been his lover long before—
The guy in front of the bar cleared his throat.
Marcus jumped. “Sorry. Green Beast. On it.”
He mixed the drink and tried to ignore the herbal scent of the absinthe, or think about the faint licorice taste that had lingered in Timur’s kiss before. Tried not to think about it, anyway.
And, damn it, as it always did, the first bright green drink caught the attention of others, and before Marcus knew it, he was slinging Green Beasts left and right.
There was a special place in hell, Marcus decided, for whoever had lobbied for the legalization of absinthe.
Chapter Sixteen
The club finally closed at midnight—these days it was only open till two on the weekends when there was enough of a crowd to justify it—and Chris and Marcus headed out.
“Oh my God, my feet are killing me.” Chris toed off his shoes and groaned.
“You’ve gotten soft.” Marcus clicked his tongue. “Your legionnaire husband would be disappointed.”
No Place That Far Page 16