by Barley A. R.
He pointed out other regulars: the woman who wrote romance novels, the teenager who stayed in his parents’ beach house by himself, and the man who stuffed his speedo.
“You know for a fact?” Nico asked.
“I know no one’s hung like that.”
“Hmmph.” Nico jerked his head to the right. “What about her?”
“Who?”
“The one who looks like she’s going to order a hit on us.”
Dale’s head jerked around, but he wasn’t surprised when he saw whip-thin features and hard blue eyes under a pile of straw-colored hair. Aunt Shirley had gone gray ages ago, but only her stylist would be gauche enough to admit it. He moved without thinking, taking a little half step to put himself between Nico and his aunt. “That’s my aunt Shirley. She owns the bookstore.”
“She’s got a problem with—with us?”
“Nope.” Shirley had been Dale’s biggest supporter when he was younger. When he’d come out, she’d joined PFLAG, and when his father had threatened to throw him out for inviting another boy to prom, she’d brought her brother to heel with a few well-chosen words. She’d never made him feel uncomfortable because of his sexuality. “She’s just got a problem with me.”
It was too late to run now. Shirley was already standing right in front of him. “Hanging around in town in the middle of the day.” She sniffed. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”
“Not really.”
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Seward.” Nico reached around him to hold out a hand.
“It hasn’t been Seward for years. Still, you’ve got good manners.” Shirley flushed as they shook hands. “What’s a nice boy like you doing with my nephew?”
“I’m pretty sure he’s a nice boy too.”
“Hmmph.” She raised an over plucked eyebrow. “He’s a lazy asshole.”
It was better than Dale had expected, but it still stung to hear.
No sense sticking around for more. He gave her a nod. “See you around, Shirley.”
Chapter Seven.
THE LAZY Crab was a small restaurant with a large deck and tables that spilled out into a nearby alley. The decor was rustic—extremely—with broken crab nets competing for wall space with ugly seascapes. The tables were rough wood. The chairs were covered in multicolored vinyl—each one a different pattern.
Nico almost walked right back out again, but the tables were crowded even at two o’clock on a Tuesday, and the smells coming out of the kitchen were intriguing. Besides, when he’d called to find out if they were looking for waiters, the owner had said “Hell, yes” and scheduled him for an interview over the phone.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and tried to look respectable—or as respectable as he could in a pair of cargo shorts. He’d meant to buy a pair of pants before coming in, but Dale had insisted that wasn’t necessary.
Dale. Thinking the other man’s name had his heart thump-thumping. Fuck. The man was smart, funny, and so fucking gorgeous… but it wasn’t his looks that had Nico swallowing his tongue every time Dale looked in his direction.
It was the light in his eyes and the smile that played constantly across his lips.
Not that he’d done anything about it.
It had been two weeks and except for the kiss they’d shared on his first night, the closest they’d gotten was snuggling on the couch while watching a movie.
It didn’t help that Nico got a serious case of nerves every time he thought about going further. Kissing. Touching. Callused fingers running up and down his body.
And then…. Damn.
He’d only ever had sex with women, and none of them had seemed particularly excited by the idea. Would things be that different if it was a man? And what would Dale want him to do? Since the kiss he’d looked at porn once or twice or a hundred times on his smartphone, and the bigger guy was always on top. Was that what Dale wanted? To strip him down and bend him over the nearest flat surface?
Hell. He swallowed down the thought as he threaded his way through the restaurant to the office.
Things were going to change.
Starting today.
First step was a job. So far Dale had turned down every offer he’d made to split the rent, but once Nico got a job, things were going to change. Paying his fair share was the first step to Dale seeing him as an equal instead of a fucked-up kid.
Next, he was going to buy something to wear that didn’t make him feel like a teenager on summer break. Dale might make T-shirts and board shorts look sexy as hell, but Nico wasn’t that guy. He was going to get a button-down shirt that brought out the auburn highlights in his hair.
Then, he was going to make his move… probably… maybe… at least he was going to make it a hell of a lot harder for Dale to keep turning away.
He didn’t know much about seducing guys, but he hadn’t missed the way Dale colored under his tan when Nico flirted or the way he’d adjusted himself and looked away every time Nico took off his shirt.
After that—Nico really didn’t know, but if he spent one more night in bed with only his imagination for company, then he was going to tug his dick off.
He craved Dale’s touch. Even if that meant swallowing his nerves and offering the other guy his ass.
“Nico Travelli?” A tall man in a green T-shirt waved him into the restaurant’s office. “Chris O’Connell.” He gave him a quick up-and-down before collapsing into a computer chair. “Nice to meet you. Sorry you had to come down here, but I don’t think this is the right job for you.”
Dammit. He knew he should have bought pants. “I know I’m young, but I’ve got experience, and I’m not afraid to work hard.”
“That’s pretty clear from your résumé.” Chris swung his feet up onto the edge of his desk. He needed to shave, but the scruff didn’t do anything to soften his sharp features.
“Look, I’ve been to Chicago. I’ve seen Travelli’s—I even got a drink at the bar. You probably pulled in—what?—a couple hundred dollars a night in tips? Maybe a thousand on a good night? Maybe more. You’re not going to make that here. You’re going to be yelled at by angry tourists, picked on by locals, and run ragged by everyone in between. Your clothes are going to smell like crab, and the kids might puke on you.” He tried for a smile and failed. “Still interested?”
“Like I said, I’m not afraid to work hard.”
Chris didn’t look impressed.
The office door bounced open, and a young man in a teal-and-pink staff shirt came in. Liquid had been splashed across his cargo shorts. “Do we have lemon rosemary risotto?”
“No.”
“There’s a woman on the deck who wants a side of lemon rosemary risotto.”
“Did you tell her we didn’t have it?”
“She says we do.”
“Can’t serve what we don’t have.”
According to the waiter’s name tag, his name was Tim. His head drooped toward the floor. He shifted uncomfortably in his wet pants. A single dark droplet coasted down one leg. Soda? Coffee? “She said she got it last time she was here.”
Chris’s jaw clenched tight. He didn’t bother getting up, but that didn’t mean he was happy. “We do not now—nor have we ever—served lemon rosemary risotto.” He grabbed for a toy crab sitting on the desktop. “Did you try offering her the pilaf?”
“She says she’s allergic to pilaf.”
“She’s allergic to rice? What does she think we put in the risotto? Magic beans?”
“She says she’s not allergic to rice. She’s allergic to pilaf.”
“And I’m allergic to red.” A vein throbbed on the side of the restaurant owner’s head. “Wait—didn’t they have risotto at the Rainbow Parrot over in Ocean City?”
The waiter shrugged. “Never went.”
“That’s because they went out of business when you were five.” His grip tightened on the plush animal in his hand. Another minute and the crab was going to lose his stuffing. “Okay, Mr. Nico Travelli, you’re a
hotshot waiter. What would you do in this situation?”
Nico cocked his head to the side. He thought for a minute. “I want to ask you a question, Tim.” It took conscious effort to keep his voice calm. “What happened to your shorts?”
“She threw her drink at me.”
“Long Island Iced Tea?” Nico didn’t wait for the answer. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. When he spoke again, his words were directed at Chris, and anger was leaking into his voice. “I’d throw her out, and if you don’t, then you’re right… I don’t want to work here.”
“Bold move.” Chris’s hand relaxed on the crab. “Tourists don’t take kindly to being bounced. You get her out of here without a fuss, and you’ve got the job.”
“Deal.” Nico turned toward the door.
“Wait!” Chris bent over and slammed open a filing cabinet drawer. He rummaged around for a minute before pulling out a shirt in the same eye-searing color scheme that Tim was wearing. He considered it for a moment, then grabbed something even brighter—hot pink with red and black details.
It was the ugliest shirt Nico had ever seen, right down to the word “manager” printed in block lettering underneath the restaurant’s name. “You’re going to need this.”
Nico pulled the shirt on over his head. It was tight over the T-shirt he was already wearing. The pink color probably made him look like an idiot, but that didn’t stop him from holding his head high. He represented the Lazy Crab now, and that meant something—even if they did give away paper hats with the kids’ menus. He nodded at Tim. “Lead the way.”
The waiter stared at him for a long moment. He shuffled his feet forward. “I don’t know, Chris—”
“I’ve got this.” Nico’s voice was firm. He wouldn’t be cowed, not by a guy who looked like he was five minutes away from walking out on his shift. His heart might be beating double-time, but he refused to let it show. “Let’s go. Now.”
Together, they picked their way through the restaurant and outside onto the wide deck. The air smelled like salt water, and the oversized fans hanging from the ceiling did little to cut through the heat. Tim’s shoulders hunched as he approached a six-top. Two couples and two younger women down near the end.
Tim didn’t need to tell him who the troublemaker was—not when one of the older women was already tearing into him. “I don’t see my new drink.”
“You’re not getting one.” Nico stepped up beside his new comrade. He lifted his chin. “I’m afraid that your order’s been canceled. You don’t have to pay for the drinks, but I am going to ask you to leave.”
The woman’s jaw fell open. Her skin was sallow. Her lipstick was a dark red that stained her teeth. “Excuse me?”
“No, you’re not excused. You can apologize to Tim on your way out.”
“That little—”
“Marcia, be quiet.” The man sitting next to the woman was broad and overweight. His voice was like two rocks grinding together. “Why can’t you ever be quiet?”
No one met Nico’s eyes as they got up to leave, but one of the other women in the party tossed a couple of bills onto the table. “Those are for you,” Nico told Tim. “You don’t have to tip out on it if you don’t want to.”
Five minutes later Nico was filling out his employment paperwork. “Here.” He pulled the shirt back off over his head and offered it to Chris.
His new boss shook his head. “Keep it.”
“The advertisement was for a waiter.”
“Yeah, I need a waiter. I always need waiters—this time of year every restaurant in the state needs waiters. If they don’t, they’re doing something wrong.” Chris stretched in his seat, the chair rocking underneath him. “I also need a manager for the lunch shift. Headwaiter at Travelli’s, you dealt with unruly customers? Did some scheduling? Trained new guys?”
“Of course.” Nico shifted uncomfortably. The offer was better than he’d expected—a hell of a lot better. Hope bubbled up inside of him like good champagne. After a week of anger, confusion, and despair, things were finally starting to go his way. “Are you sure?”
“Hell yeah.” He shrugged. “You’re available and you’re qualified. Hell, you’re probably qualified for my job—but I’ve already got it.” He paused suddenly. “You know how to pick crabs? You need to know how to pick crabs to do this job.”
“I can pick out crabs.” Nico had subbed as a sommelier more than once. Picking crabs couldn’t be harder than picking fine wine, right? “Whatever you need.”
“Fuck.” Chris’s smile frayed. He was looking queasy.
Clearly Nico had said something wrong. The bubbles of hope he’d been feeling fizzled and died. He backtracked. “I’m a fast learner, I swear.”
“You better be.” The restaurant owner glanced at his paperwork. He blinked twice. “You’re staying at the resort?”
“Next to it.”
“The only thing next to the resort is an outlet complex.”
“I’m staying with a friend.” The ground was shifting underneath Nico.
“The only people who live over there are tourists, assholes, and—” There was a moment’s pause. The only sound was the clink-clanking of forks on plates out in the body of the restaurant. “You’re the kid Dale dragged out of the water the other day.”
“I’m not a kid.”
Another check of the paperwork. “Twenty-three? Close enough.” But some of his tension had dissipated. “Go home. Tell Dale you need to know how to pick crabs. Pay attention, and don’t drink too much while you’re doing it.” He waved away any questions. “You start tomorrow at nine o’clock sharp. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
Chris snorted. “Fuck off, kid.”
Nico’s hands clenched. His grip tightened on his new shirt, but he didn’t say a word. He couldn’t—not without risking his new job. Manager wasn’t just a title. It was more responsibility and more money. Forget about splitting rent on Dale’s tiny house on the outskirts of town. They could find someplace better—bigger—someplace they could share.
Maybe then Dale wouldn’t think he was about to split every time he got up to go to the bathroom.
Maybe then he wouldn’t think he was a kid.
Fuck. He hoped that wasn’t how Dale thought of him. He couldn’t be that much younger than the other man. Right? How old was Dale anyway? He walked down to where his car was parked—legally—and dropped his work shirt in the back seat. Dale was older, for sure, but there was no gray in his hair. The fine lines around his eyes weren’t deep or angry.
Nico’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Dale. He pulled the device out and checked the screen. Gina. It was her fourth call since he’d charged the phone up the night before. If the messages on his voicemail were anything to go by, she’d been calling every few hours since he’d left Chicago.
He hit the End button, then called the number he’d added that morning.
“You know, I yell at the lifeguards for talking on their cell phone.” Dale chuckled. “Good thing I’m not on the beach. What do you want?”
“I got a job.”
“Congratulations, we’ll go out to dinner.”
“My new boss says I need to learn how to pick out crabs.”
“Pick crabs, not pick out crabs.”
“There’s a difference?”
“You’re not asking them to prom. You’re picking them apart,” Dale explained. “I’ll order a bushel. Invite the guys over. We’ll have some beers.”
“He said not to drink too much.”
“You’ve got to drink while picking crabs. I’m pretty sure it’s a law or something.”
Nico found that highly doubtful, but he could practically hear Dale’s smile. A flash of heat zipped down his spine. He seemed so confident—so sure of himself—even if he was talking out his ass.
“You’re so full of shit.”
“Like me anyway?”
“Yeah.” He leaned back against the car, melting a little in the sunlight. “I like
you.”
Chapter Eight.
WHEN DALE got home, there were already half a dozen cars parked in front of his house. The liftgate to Richard’s green hatchback was open, and a bunch of lifeguards had formed a bucket brigade to transport booze into the house. Dale grabbed a six-pack before it could get to Becky. “When’s your birthday again?”
“Last week?” Her teeth dug into her bottom lip. She sighed. “December, Dad?”
“Don’t even joke.” He wasn’t old enough to be her father, was he? The math worked out quickly in his head. He winced. Not quite, but that didn’t make the suggestion any less unsettling. “Just for that, you can help me unload the crabs.”
“How many did you get?”
“Four bushel.”
She let out a low whistle. “You must really like him.”
“Who?” Dale asked.
It was bullshit.
They both knew who she was talking about—the only person either of them had been talking about since they’d dragged him out of the water. Nico. He handed the beer over to Joe Tyler and followed Becky back to the truck. They each grabbed a bushel of crabs and carried them over to the picnic tables set up behind the house.
“I like him,” Becky said. “He’s smart. He’s funny. He’s freaking nice. I went in earlier to get some newspaper, and he made me some lemonade. From real lemons. I don’t know if I’ve ever had lemonade from lemons before.”
“Not even as a kid?”
“I’m quite deprived.” Her head cocked to the side. “Richard said he’d make me a lemonade if I wanted.”
“Richard’s an asshole. You deserve better.”
“Well, duh.” Her cheeks flushed happily at the compliment. “What about Nico? What does he deserve?”
“Better than me.” Which was more of the truth than he liked to admit. Nico was smart and funny. He knew how to cook and now—a job.
Dale’s heart had been racing ever since he’d heard the news.
A job wasn’t temporary—not for a man like Nico. It wasn’t something he’d pick up one day and leave the next. He was sticking around.