The Gin Rickey
Page 4
“What the hell happened in there?”
Chris shook his head, his temple throbbing with the effort. “My dad died.”
“Today?”
“No.” Chris chuckled. “A couple of days ago, apparently. But it might as well have been four years ago.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Long story.” Chris didn’t want to talk about his private family drama with anyone, let alone his boss’s brother. He scratched his chin, his eyes fixed on Marty. God, those eyes. They were same color as Jay’s—a warm liquid amber—and their heat thawed Chris’s composure. With an almost imperceptible nod, he spilled. “I’m gay. My dad couldn’t handle it.”
Marty shrugged. “Doesn’t seem like a long story.”
This brought a real laugh from Chris. “No, I guess not.”
“So.” Marty toed an empty beer bottle near his feet. “How’d you know?”
Chris raised a brow. “You thinking about coming out of the closet?”
The broadly muscled man nervously straightened to a full stand. “No.”
“Don’t get twisted.” Chris laughed again. “I was teasing. Do you really want to know?”
“Sure.”
Chris stood up, his full height an inch or two taller than Marty. He moved close making Marty step backward until the heel of his foot hit the wall. Chris leaned forward, his face so close he could feel Marty’s warm breath on him. “The truth is,” he said softly. “I kissed a boy.” He tucked his finger under Marty’s chin. “And I liked it.”
The look of sheer fear on Marty’s face brightened Chris’s mood. Nothing like scaring a straight boy to get over the death of an estranged father.
Chris grinned and winked at Marty. It was enough to make the man retreat. Marty sidestepped out of his trapped position and put his hand on the door handle. “Ha, ha. Very funny. Well, you seem to be doing better, and I gotta go.”
Chris reached out and touched Marty’s sleeve. “Thanks, by the way. For…you know.”
“You’re welcome.” Marty stopped before going back inside. “Do you have someone to stay with you?”
“Are you offering?” Chris was teasing again, but there was also an edge of seriousness in the question.
“Jesus, you don’t let up.” Marty shook his head. “If you have a head injury, someone needs to stay with you overnight. Just in case.”
Chris didn’t have anyone. He lived alone. He had no family in the city, and the family he did have hadn’t talked to him in years…Until today. He’d been surprised when his mother had called. The news of his father’s death had made him completely numb. He didn’t even know why he cared. The man had hated Chris. He’d made a point to make sure that Chris knew exactly how much.
Chris wasn’t one to wallow in things he couldn’t change, but to the question: Did he have someone? The answer was a pitiable, “No.”
“No what?”
“I don’t have anyone who can stay with me.”
Marty nodded—a new resolve in his gaze. “All right. I’ll talk to Jay. You can stay at his place tonight with us.”
Chris grinned again and raised a questioning brow. He hadn’t had an offer this good from someone this hot in a very long time.
Marty rolled his eyes. “On the couch.”
Raising his hands in surrender, Chris nodded. “Got it. The couch.”
Note from G.R.
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About G.R.
G.R. George is the pen name for USA Today bestselling author Renee George. G.R writes GLBT contemporary romance and GLBT paranormal romance. Her hot, steamy romances highlight varying themes including gay and bisexual relationships. A published author since 2005, she has written and published over 30 books in the past decade. Accolades include: EcataRomance Award for Best Paranormal Erotic Romance and Best Gay Erotic Romance and a Literary Nymph Blush Award for Best Paranormal Romance.
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eBooks by G.R. George
Holiday Hotties Romances, Paranormal MM series
http://www.holidayhottiesromances.com/
1. Fruitcakes
2. You Don’t Know Jack
3. Stupid Cupid
The Other Team, Contemporary MM Romance series
http://www.theotherteam.club/
1. The Wallbanger
2. The Hot Toddy
3. The Gin Rickey
4. The Dirty Martini
5. The Old Fashioned – Wallbanger 2
6. The Hurricane – Hot Toddy 2
7. The Sparkler – Gin Rickey 2
8. The Screwdriver - Dirty Martini 2
G.R. George writing as Renee George
Midnight Shifters, a Paranormal Romance series
http://www.midnightshifters.com
1. Midnight Shift
2. The Bear Witch Project
3. A Door to Midnight
4. A Shade of Midnight
5. Midnight Before Christmas
Lion Kings, a Paranormal Romance series
http://www.lionkingshifters.com/
1. The Lion Kings
The Cull, Paranormal Romance series
http://www.ozarkshifters.com/
1. Claimed By the Alpha
2. Protected By the Alpha
3. Ravished By the Alpha
G.R. recommends … Lexxie Couper
“If you love hot, sexy romance, I recommend Lexxie for more contemporary fiction that grabs a hold of you from the first page and doesn’t let you go until the end.”
Compliance
Heart of Fame, Book 4.5
Lexxie Couper
Chapter 1
Two weeks into Bethany’s Australian vacation, she was planning acts of debauchery. Were those acts enough to get her thrown out of the country? She didn’t know. Didn’t care, to be honest. Because for the first time in her life, she was completely and utterly overwhelmed with desire. Flustered was another good word. Horny beyond belief was another, although to be completely accurate horny beyond belief was actually three words. And an understatement.
In the fourteen days since arriving in the country for a long-overdue vacation from her PA job, she’d spent far more hours fantasizing about wicked sexual activities than she had actual sightseeing. Even when she had done the whole tourist/sightseeing thing, like climb to the top of the Sydney Harbour Bridge, all she could think about was the two guys she’d met on her first night in Australia.
Two guys.
Not one. Oh, no. Two. When Bethany Sloan decided to fall instantly and powerfully in lust, an emotion she’d always prided herself on being immune to, of course it would be with two men. After all, Bethany never did anything by half measures.
And there was nothing half measure about Logan Hill and Curtis Clarkson. Nothing half measure at all.
Sitting at a shadowy booth at the back of Curtis’s bar, curiously called the Cricketer’s Cup—the bar, not the booth—Bethany watched both men talk at the bar.
Curtis was the perfect specimen of a hot-blooded, virile sex-god. Tall, broad-shouldered, lean-hipped with the most incredible physique Bethany had ever seen. And Bethany was no stranger when it came to physically perfect men, given her boss was the Hollywood action star and three-times US Weekly’s Sexiest Man Alive recipient, Chris Huntley. But Curtis Clarkson…well, it wasn’t just his body that pushed her sexual lust buttons and made her want to get to know him better in every way imaginable.
It was the periwinkle blueness of his eyes, the little crinkles on either side that spoke of a devilish mirth within him, the kind that made him laugh often. It was the way his honey-blond hair never quite looked tidy, as if he’d only just tumbled out of bed after a session of wild, uninhibited sex. It was the squareness of his jaw always sporting a stubbly growth Bethany wanted to feel scraping against the inside of her thigh, up high where she’d feel his warm breath fan the folds of her pussy. It was the hawkish quality of his nose that spoke of a regal Italian somewhere far back in his lineage. It was the way her skin broke out in hot flushes, her nipples pinched into puckered tips of aching want and her sex contracted and constricted whenever he looked at her, his lips tugged into a wicked lopsided smile she saw every night in her fantasies.
It was the way he treated his best friend with a loving warmth Bethany admired and respected.
Shifting her ass a little on the booth’s bench seat, Bethany slid her attention to the man leaning on the bar engaged in a deep conversation with Curtis.
Logan Hill. The very antithesis of Curtis.
Bethany drew in a long, slow breath, her pussy throbbing even more. Well, not entirely the antithesis. Like Curtis, Logan was tall with blond hair. But his eyes were a dark indigo, the serious intelligence in them emphasized by rimless glasses. Like Curtis, his shoulders were broad…but his physique was less muscular. Less that of a professional sports star—which Curtis was—and more that of a man who ran daily on a treadmill. Which he did. A minimum of ten miles.
Where Curtis was quick to laugh, Logan expressed his quirky sense of humour through a barely noticed twitch of his lips. Where Curtis was fawned over by men and women every day, due to once being Australia’s most idolized professional sports star, Logan seemed to appear invisible to most of them regardless of his success.
It was well known in the country that the best friend of the ex-captain of the Australian cricket team was a computer nerd who made enough money annually to shame Warren Buffett and Donald Trump combined. It was noted and discussed often in the media.
It was Bethany’s observation however, that when people were in Logan’s company, all they saw was a quiet, diffident guy in glasses wearing a Star Wars T-shirt, or a Captain America T-shirt, or a May the E=MC2 Be With You T-shirt. And in a country obsessed with sporting achievements, especially cricket, the nerd had yet to inherent the earth. Or at the very least, the adoration.
Bethany thought the women in this country were goddamn insane if they couldn’t see the potent, latent sensuality in Logan Hill. The guy was hot with a capital holy-fuck-say-something-super-smart-to-me-again H. And she’d bet her last Australian dollar under those geeky T-shirts was a lean, sinewy body just waiting to be licked and nibbled and explored with hands and tongues and…
A tight heat coiled deep in the pit of her belly and she bit back a low groan. Logan Hill thoroughly stirred her on every level, not just the sexual levels.
She loved listening to him talk about SAP ABAP, caching, compliance, hybrid cloud, PaaS, SaaS and VMs even if she didn’t understand anything he was saying when he did. She loved talking world politics, global warming and the pros and cons of CGI-heavy films versus more traditional special effects with him until the early hours of the morning. She loved watching The Big Bang Theory with him and listening to him rant about how skewed the representation of the nerds were in the sitcom. In fact, there wasn’t much about Logan Hill she didn’t enjoy. A lot.
A lot a lot.
Realizing the two men of her intense pre-occupation were looking at her, Bethany squirmed a little on the bench and arched an eyebrow at them—a silent challenge to wander over to the booth and make wild, debauched threesome love to her right there and then.
She’d been offering the very same silent challenge since the day she met them, when she’d wandered into the bar looking to experience a truly Aussie pub and found them playing a game of darts while arguing the merits of Australia becoming a republic.
So far, they hadn’t taken her up on the offer. Probably because her challenge was a silent one. And really, who knew how to read feisty-American-tourist eyebrow nowadays?
Letting out a silent grunt of exasperation, she fixed them with an unwavering stare. Both Curtis and Logan studied her from the bar. Both men’s expressions were damn near impossible to decipher.
That was another thing about Curtis and Logan Bethany had fallen head-over-heels in lust with—the fact she couldn’t read them. She could read anyone. It was one of the reasons she was so good at what she did. Her boss was an actor oftentimes surrounded by groveling yes-men and fawning opportunists, Bethany could spot the self-serving fake from the legit helpful/considerate associate within seconds.
But Logan and Curtis…
She studied them back, her heart racing faster.
Christ, she wanted them to rip all her clothes off and do things to her body.
She had no idea if they’d ever shared a woman before. She had, after all, only known them for two weeks, despite feeling more comfortable with them than any other guys she’d met. She also had no idea if they were sexually attracted to her, although she was certain she’d caught Curtis looking at her more than once during their time together checking out the sights of Sydney with lust in his eyes.
If Logan was interested in her, he was keeping it very close to his chest. Even on the nights she walked around his apartment in little but her panties and a tank top, hoping to get some hint he felt the same sexual interest in her that she felt for him, he kept his stare glued to his laptop.
What she did know was she couldn’t wait any longer to address the subject.
She’d been staying in Logan’s harbourside apartment for the last week after he’d extended the invitation when her pre-booked Sydney accommodation had suddenly closed thanks to an international drug-ring bust. Tonight, after Curtis finished work, she was going to do something about her rather feverish and all-consuming desire for both men.
And by something, she meant cook them both dinner. American-style.
And serve it to them naked.
Utterly naked. Except for the six-inch cherry-red stilettoes she’d bought yesterday.
Hopefully, that would get the debauched ball rolling.
One way or the other.
“So do you reckon she’s got a date tonight?”
Curtis tried not to notice the way Logan’s gaze lingered on Bethany Sloan as his best mate voiced the question he himself was wondering.
Returning his attention to the glass in his hand—the same glass he’d been drying for the last bloody hour—he shrugged. “Probably. She did say she had something special planned, and let’s be serious, she can’t just keep hanging around with us, can she?”
The sound of Logan’s slow intake of breath told Curtis that was exactly what his best mate had in mind. The bloke was already halfway in love with her. Hell, he’d invited her into his home after only knowing her for one week, after all.
“There was that guy that asked her out at the art gallery yesterday,” Logan uttered. Curtis didn’t need to look at Logan to know he was still facing Bethany where she sat at her favourite booth. The same booth where he’d first met her a fortnight ago. “He was also American. Some high-flier professional hockey player.”
Curtis raised his head, frowning at his best friend. “Hockey player? Ice-hockey or field?”
Logan turned back to him, gaze d
irect behind the spotless lenses of his glasses. “Does it matter?”
Curtis opened his mouth to say yes. Field-hockey players were a completely different kind of threat to ice-hockey players. He shook his head. Not because Logan wouldn’t understand where he was coming from—they’d been best friends ever since they were twelve—but because he didn’t want to reveal to Logan just how much he damn well wanted to throw Bethany on a bed, preferably his own, and bury himself in her pussy.
“No,” he answered, lowering his stare to the glass and white dishcloth in his hand. Damn it, a fucking hockey player. He remembered those guys being arrogant tossers back in school. And the ones he’d crossed paths with in his professional-cricket-playing days were just the same, especially if they’d represented their country in the Olympics. Could Bethany really be interested in a guy like that?
An image of the gorgeous American tourist he’d become totally obsessed with filled his head, her lips parted with pleasure as she rode the hips of a muscle-bound guy wearing nothing but shin pads and a bright-red mouth guard.
He shook his head again and let out a disgusted snort. Damn, he really needed to get a hold of his imagination.
“So when are you going to make your move?”
At Logan’s unexpected question, a prickling wave of heat rushed over the back of Curtis’s neck. He stiffened, shooting his best mate a puzzled frown. “Move?”
“On Bethany?” Curtis asked as Logan studied him, a self-mocking smile pulling at his lips. Curtis was familiar with that smile. It was the smile that said Logan knew he was about to take an absolute beating from the schoolyard bully and wished to hell he could do something to stop it. He’d worn it almost every day during their school years. The expression of a nerd well aware he was fodder to those with more muscles and less intellect than he.