The Dirty Martini
Page 1
Table of Contents
Excerpt
The Dirty Martini
Blurb
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
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Note from G.R.
eBooks by G.R. George
G.R. recommends … Sami Lee
Excerpt
Driving up the highway, only a few hours from his hometown, Chris allowed the surrealness of the situation to envelope him. Marty hadn’t said more than a few perfunctory words to him since they’d stopped at Chris’s apartment to pick up a few of his things for the two-day trip, and he’d made a point of not looking at Chris. The silence and distance lingered between them—a thick and heavy barrier. Did Marty already regret his decision to take Chris home? They barely knew each other. They weren’t friends, and one night didn’t make them lovers.
Chris pursed his lips, steeling his courage to give Marty an out. “About last night. It doesn’t have to mean anything. Just two people hanging out, hooking up. It’s not a big deal.” He snapped his mouth shut and swallowed hard. God, he sounded like a rambling imbecile. Marty’s white knuckles and seriously drawn brows indicated Chris was making things worse not better. “Look. One time doesn’t mean your gay or anything. I was sad. You were sad…or whatever. We helped each other. End of story. No reason to feel bad or guilty. It’s not like I’m going to be heartbroken if you don’t want me.”
Hearing his own words, the possible truth of them, hit Chris like a punch to the gut. “I hope that’s not why you’re taking me to my dad’s funeral. Because you feel guilty about what we did.”
The car slowed, and Marty flipped the right blinker. He pulled them over to the side of the highway, put the car in park, and turned his head until his gaze fell on Chris.
Chris, who had some experience with the fight or flight reflex, was suddenly in flight mode. He should’ve kept his mouth shut! Marty looked like he was ready to beat the crap out him, and considering his ranger training, Chris had little chance against him.
When Marty undid his seatbelt and turned his body to face the passenger seat, Chris pressed his back against the door. Marty leaned over the console between them, until his face hovered inches from Chris’s. Chris tucked his chin and closed his eyes, bracing for the punch.
His eyes fluttered open when he felt the unexpected warm press of Marty’s lips against his own. Not the punch he was expecting, but just as hard of a knockout. Marty’s eyes had softened at the edges, but he still looked angry when he pulled back.
“I’ve wanted to do that since I walked in on you having coffee with Jay this morning. Not kissing you before now has been the hardest part of my day.”
Stunned, Chris said nothing when Marty sat back in his seat, put his seatbelt on and started the car. “Have I cleared up your confusion?”
Chris shook his head and smiled. “Not at all.”
Chris undid his own seatbelt and leaned over the driver side, positioning himself chest to chest with Marty. He palmed Marty’s cheek. God, those soulful whiskey-colored eyes melted Chris into a puddle. Marty’s every silence and word, every stillness and movement—all seemed deliberate and unhurried. This was not an impulsive man. He couldn’t be to do what he had to do as an Army Ranger. Yet, what Marty was doing for Chris—with Chris—was as impulsive as it got.
Chris drew his thumb across Marty’s full lower lip. A thin white scar ran through, creating a subtle divide. The scars on Marty’s neck, chest, and right leg were obviously noticeable—the one on his lip seemed different. “Did you get this when you got the others?”
Marty smiled, the right corner of his mouth tugging up a little higher on the left. “No. My first war wound. Got it when I was seven on a family camping trip.” Marty nipped at Chris’s thumb. “Dad was teaching us to skip stones, and Jay couldn’t quite get the hang of it. He nailed me.”
“Nailed you, huh?” Chris grinned and wiggled his brow. “Sounds fun.”
The Dirty Martini
The Other Team, Book 4
G.R. George
Published 2016 by Book Boutiques.
ISBN: 978-1-944003-02-9
Copyright © 2016, G.R. George.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of Book Boutiques.
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, locales, or events is wholly coincidental. The names, characters, dialogue, and events in this book are from the author’s imagination and should not to be construed as real.
Manufactured in the USA.
Email support@bookboutiques.com with questions, or inquiries about Book Boutiques.
Blurb
When bartender Chris Lawson goes into shock after getting the worst news of his life, he wakes up in the arms of Marty Lincoln, an Army Ranger on leave from his post. Even in his grief, Chris feels instantly connected to the war-ravaged military vet.
Only two problems: Marty is his boss's younger brother. And even if that wasn't an obstacle, the battle-hardened Ranger is straight. Or is he?
Previously Published
(2014) Renee George
Acknowledgements
I want to thank all the readers of the Cocktails 1, 2, and 3. These couples are so much fun to write, and knowing that you all are on board is enough to make writing them so worthwhile. Thank you, thank you. (And you especially Kevin. *muwah*)
To my best friend Michele Bardsley, who sat on the phone with me for hours while I wrote this and painstakingly beta-red and line edited the story for me. You go beyond for me, always. Thank you so much.
To Maryam Salim who has been with me since the Cocktails began. This journey would not be the same without you. You get me, which means everything. Thank you!
To A Street Team Named Desire, you all RAWK! You are the best team ever. Every day I’m amazed you chose me. What you do for me, I will try to repay in stories you will continue to love and cherish.
To my best friends Michele, Dakota, Mariah, and Robb—you guys are the earth to my moon. It is my privilege to be in your orbit!
To Kate Douglas, who has always been a source of encouragement and an inspiration, thank you! It is a privilege to be your friend.
To my husband, I don’t know another man anywhere who could put up with my bullshit. I thank my lucky stars every day, or at the very least, weekly. I love you.
Cover Art: Renee George
Dirty Martini Recipe
6 ounces of Vodka
A dash of Vermouth
1 ounce Green Olive Brine
4 Stuffed Green Olives
Mix all the ingredients into a tall glass. With a Cocktail strainer, pour the mixture into a martini glass, garnish with olives, and enjoy. For variety, try it over the rocks. Invite a friend—double the recipe and double the dirty.
Chapter 1
Bad News is Bad News
Chris Lawson watched from behind the bar as Jay Lincoln, the owner of The Other Team Sports Bar & Grill, gave his new boyfriend, a middle-aged doctor, a kiss good-bye at the door. He rolled his eyes as he methodically cleaned highball glasses. He wasn’t jealous, not in the least. Those guys were idiots. The Other Team filled up with hot men almost every night, and the idea of only taking one home FOREVER, didn’t appeal to Ch
ris even a little.
At twenty-four, he still had a lot of field he wanted to play before settling down. The fact that Tucker and Todd were glued at the hips—which damn, he sure missed Todd, a hot guy, a hot body, and a hot fuck—and Alex and Ricky—the odd couple—who seemed oddly happy, made Chris want to gag on all the sappy romance going on around him. Though, he really regretted not tapping Ricky. That dude was sexy with a capital S.
As if on cue, Ricky poked his head out from the kitchen. “Order up.” His dark hair fell over his light-green eyes. The way the muscles in his arm flexed and brought his tattoos to life, made Chris’s dick hard. Fuck. He needed to stop window shopping unavailable men.
Jay knocked on the counter to get Chris’s attention. “Okay?” Jay had short, brown hair—all business-like—but his eyes, the color of aged whiskey, always fascinated Chris. He’d never seen another person with that exact shade of amber. Those warm eyes made Jay hard to ignore—not that Chris would sleep with his employer. He’d learned from previous experience not to shit where he ate.
“Yeah, Jay,” Chris finally said. “I’m good.”
“You have a call on my office phone.” Jay narrowed his dark brows.
“Who would call me here? Anybody who knows me would call my cell.” Shit. Had he forgot to make a loan payment for his car? No. He’d covered that last Tuesday. Maybe a late credit card…No. He’d never missed a payment, but because of the way he grew up, his family always dodging one bill collector after another, it made Chris worry about getting in over his head.
Jay shrugged. “She said she’s your mother.”
Chris dropped the glass he’d been drying. It fractured into tiny pieces when it hit the floor.
Chapter 2
Marty’s Homecoming
Sergeant Martin “Marty” Lincoln, a Ranger in the U.S. Army pushed his way inside The Other Team Sports Bar & Grill and leaned heavily on his cane. He hadn’t seen his brother Jay in four years. Marty smiled. It was a Saturday afternoon, and his brother’s new place thrived. The bar stools were full, and he didn’t see a single empty booth.
Marty was younger than Jay by seven years—their parents’ oops child. He’d always looked up to Jay. When Jay had told their parents he was gay, Mom and Dad had initially reacted badly. Mom wept for days lamenting the fact he’d never be able to marry or have kids.
Luckily, time was slowly changing things, and if progress continued, Jay would have all the rights of a heterosexual soon enough. Time had also changed their parents’ attitude. The past week he’d spent with them, they both went on and on about how well Jay was doing—how he was dating a doctor. Mom had seemed especially happy about the doctor part. She’d always wanted one of her boys to go to medical school. Instead she got a bar owner and a soldier.
Jay had texted and e-mailed Marty with selfies of Harvey and himself. At least one Lincoln brother was happy. Marty had spent two years between Afghanistan and Iraq, and during that time he’d been awarded a Silver Star and a Purple Heart. The Silver Star had been for bravery in the face of enemy fire, and the Purple Heart, for taking shrapnel from an IED made of nails and chunks of metal into his legs, chest, and neck. One metal chunk had managed to miss his carotid artery by just a few millimeters.
The field surgeon had told Marty he was lucky. He certainly hadn’t felt lucky. The injury to his left leg had been severe enough, even after two years of rehab, to give him a permanent limp and take him out of combat. The commander of his unit recently asked him if he wanted to be a trainer for RASP (Ranger Assessment & Selection Program). But even though it was an honor to be asked, it was also like telling the quarterback he couldn’t play football anymore, but they’d let him coach.
Marty asked for some time to think about it, and put in for his leave. He wanted to spend his last week with Jay before he had to go back to Fort Benning and give his decision.
He glanced around the crowded bar until his eyes rested on young man with short, chestnut colored hair walking toward the door. His hands shook, and he swayed a bit. The guy’s eyes were glassy, and his skin flushed. Marty had seen that look before. He was going into shock.
Before Marty could take a step, the dark-blond collapsed face first to the floor. A tall, lanky waiter rushed to his side. “Someone get Ricky!”
Marty’s field training took over. He rushed as fast as his bad leg would take him to the fallen man. “Here. Let me help.” He scooched the lanky fellow aside and rolled the young man over to assess his injuries. He had a rapid and thread pulse. A small welt formed on his forehead, and he had a minor cut on his upper lip. When Marty spread the guy’s eyelid open to check his pupil, the injured man moaned and rolled his head from one side to the other.
“Just hold still.”
“Is Chris all right?” the waiter asked.
Now he had a name for the man. “Chris?” He brushed Chris’s hair away from his face. The man’s eyes fluttered but he didn’t open them.
The bar crowd’s excitement resulted in louder conversations and pushing in to see what happened. Marty had seen people hyperventilate before. Hell, it wasn’t uncommon in combat. He had to get Chris to a quiet place. “Is there a quiet place to take him?”
The waiter nodded. “We can take him to the back. Jay, the owner, stepped out for a minute, but he won’t mind if you use his office.”
Marty lifted Chris with some effort, taking the burden even with his injury, and carried Chris until he could lay him down on Jay’s couch.” Marty pointed to the waiter. “What’s your name?”
“Alex.”
“Alex, can you get a cold washcloth?” He put Chris’s feet up on the arm of the sofa.
“My, uh…friend is a doctor. I’ll go get him.”
“All right.” Convenient that. Jay was dating a doctor. The waiter was friends with a doctor. He wondered if Jay’s boyfriend and this waiter’s “friend” was the same person.
“Okay, fella.” Marty patted his cheek. It felt cool and damp, but Chris’s pulse had slowed down to about seventy beats per minute. The young man’s black shirt was buttoned to the neck. Marty undid the top buttons to loosen the collar. By the third, he could see Chris’s smooth chest. Natural or manscaped?
His curiosity won out over better judgment, and he ran his fingers along Chris’s exposed skin. It was incredibly smooth, no stubble.
Chris’s hand moved over Marty’s, holding his palm flat to the sculpted chest. His eyes opened, a warm hazel color-thick with golds and greens, and seemed to stare right through Marty.
“Feel something you like?” he asked.
Marty, caught off guard, quickly withdrew his hand. “Are you serious? I was just trying to make sure you were breathing.”
Chris raised a brow. “I haven’t heard that one before.” He tried to sit up, but stopped. “Ow!” He pressed his fingers to the knot on his forehead. “Shit. Did someone get the number of the bus that hit me?” He licked his upper lip, running the tip along the split in his skin. “At least, one good thing came out of it.” Those intense hazel eyes raked over Marty. “Okay, tall, dark, and dreamy. Who are you?”
A familiar voice answered from behind them said, “He’s my younger brother, Chris, and he’s straight. So you’re wasting your time.”
Marty’s gut clenched. If he was so straight then why was his dick struggling against the front of his jeans?
Chris raised a brow at Marty then lay his head back again. “Yes, Boss.”
Chapter 3
How’d You Know?
Chris squatted down in the alley by the back door of the bar. He cradled his neck with his hands, his hair shading his closed eyes. He couldn’t believe he’d passed out. It was fucking embarrassing. To make matters worse, his really hot babysitter was his boss’s straight younger brother.
“Hey, you doing okay?”
Chris turned his head and gazed at Marty. “Better, I think. You can go back inside.” Ricky, the cook, who happened to be an intern at the hospital, had checked Chris over.
He’d looked in Chris’s eyes with a small light then told him to watch for warning signs of a head injury like nausea, vomiting, dizziness, double vision, and a severe persistent headache. Chris had told Ricky, and Jay, and everyone else who’d congregated around him, that he just needed some air. He’d been surprised when Marty had followed him to the alley.
“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.