Jack: Grime and Punishment (The Brothers Grime Book 1)

by Z. A. Maxfield

  Chapter 14

  The hostess greeted Ryan by name and told him to wait while she’d see if she could seat him at his usual table.

  Jack looked behind him. Was there was another, more famous Ryan she was talking to? Ryan Gosling or Nolan Ryan or someone else named Ryan besides his “date”? They were the only ones standing there.

  Most people Jack knew didn’t have their own tables at steak houses, even casual dining steak houses like this one. Jack and his buddies from Station 2 were pretty well-known at the local fish taco place, and they got preferential treatment at their favorite watering hole, but seriously. No one had their own “table.”

  Except Ryan, apparently.

  Finally Jack had to ask. “You have your own table?”

  “I do. The reason is eyes only. Top secret.”

  “Huh?” Jack realized Ryan’s words were intended to be flirtatious.

  That’s what people do on dates, you idiot. They laugh. They tease. They build excitement. Ryan knows what he’s doing, and you keep fucking things up.

  He played along. “Come on. You can tell me.”

  “Sure, but then I’d have to kill you.”

  “That’s a cop-out. You need to come up with a really good reason. Tell me you saved a guy from choking on a bull testicle. Tell me a guy died at that table, and you brought him back using nothing but your steak knife, a lemon, and your Zippo lighter. Or wait. You created an emergency potato battery and—”

  “I’m hurt you think my superspy comeback is pathetic.”

  “It’s not. But I know you can do better. I’d like to see you try harder next time. People should evolve.”

  “And I should add in a prairie oyster or two to make things interesting?”

  “The word testicle always gets my attention.”

  “I see.”

  “Just trying to help out.” Jack winked. Take that.

  Ryan pinched his ass. “When I need your help, I’ll ask for it.”

  They turned when the hostess asked them to follow her. “Come right this way, sir.” By then, Jack’s heart felt lighter than it had in a decade.

  Maybe Ryan had the right idea. Jack could learn to enjoy going out with a guy to break the ice. He could get comfortable with a date and still build up a hunger for his body. If things didn’t work out, he could probably just say so. Not run away into the darkness. Not leave his heart caught in a vise.

  Dating might not be such a bad system after all.

  Who knew?

  The hostess seated them at a round red vinyl booth behind the kitchen, way off to one side, with a nice view of a tiny courtyard. They were well away from prying eyes. Jack guessed a lot of marriage proposals took place in this booth.

  “This is the chef’s table, but they let me use it when they’re not doing a tasting. Want to know how I discovered it? The real reason?”

  “Sure.” Jack took a menu from the waiter, who blatantly eyed Ryan as if he were on the dessert menu.

  “Your usual to drink, Ryan?” the waiter asked. Ryan nodded.

  “I’ll take a cola, please,” said Jack. The waiter turned without answering.

  Guess Ryan has a table and a waiter.

  “If you want to get a drink, I’m pretty sure we could catch a ride from someone here. I know pretty much the whole staff.”

  “I could call the local FD, and someone would pick me up.” Jack knew people. He could get them a ride too, but he didn’t feel like drinking just then. “So tell me, why do you have your own table at a restaurant?”

  Ryan’s lips quirked into a genuine smile. “When my grandmother got sick, it wasn’t as easy for her to eat. She spilled things on herself sometimes, so she liked to put her napkin on her chest. After a while she was too embarrassed to let me take her out, so I finally called the owner and asked if he could seat us somewhere private. He was very accommodating, and in my enthusiasm I overtipped. Now they just seat me here for old times’ sake.”

  “Aw, now. That’s—” Jack played with his forks. “That’s the kind of thing I’d never think of. That’s so thoughtful.”

  “Yeah, well. This table hasn’t hurt me on dates either. I’ve canoodled right here in this booth in front of God and everyone.”

  “Have you?” Jack leaned back. “But you seem like such a nice boy.”

  Ryan slid his foot over and bumped Jack’s. “It only looks that way.”

  “Careful, you’re about to mingle my man-made materials with your oh-so-nice leather shoes there.”

  “Speaking of which. I need to get comfortable.” Ryan stood and held Jack’s gaze with a teasing lift of his brows while he removed his jacket and tie. He threw in a lot of extra flourish so in the end, Jack felt like he’d gotten a brief private striptease.

  Jack took his jacket and tie off as well, but he wasn’t about to make a show of it. That was all Ryan, whose strong, lean body held a sinuous grace his cousin Nick couldn’t have hoped to possess.

  Goddamn it.

  Jack had to stop looking at Ryan and seeing Nick.

  “What’s the matter?” Ryan slipped back in beside him, concern etched over the frown he wore.

  “Nothing,” Jack lied.

  Things were too quiet while Ryan slipped his cuff links from his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. Jack did the same, then tapped his fingers nervously on the tablecloth.

  “What looks good to you?” Ryan asked.

  “Everything.” Jack couldn’t help settling his gaze directly on Ryan. “Everything looks really good to me.”

  Ryan colored faintly and pressed the menu out flat between them. “You can’t go wrong with the steaks here. Most everything else”—he glanced around and whispered—“is okay.”

  The waiter came to the table with their drinks. “Jack and Coke for Ryan, and plain Coke for you, sir. Have you had a chance to look over the menu yet? Can I interest you in any appetizers this evening?”

  “What do you think?” Ryan asked Jack.

  “I’m new here. Order what you like.” Jack took his soda and relaxed back into the booth.

  “Let us have some stuffed mushrooms and maybe a shrimp cocktail to share?” Ryan included Jack in the question, so he nodded.

  “And may I have some lemon for my soda, please?” Jack asked, just to be an asshole.

  “Certainly, sir. I’ll get that appetizer order for you right away and come back with your lemon.”

  “Lemon for your soda.” Ryan laughed as they watched the waiter walk away.

  “Since I still don’t know the rest of the tracks on your first-date playlist,” Jack reminded him, “how do I know I’m not out with a guy who has Justin Bieber’s ‘Baby’ on his iPod like some kind of musical time bomb?”

  “Well, what can I expect on your playlist?” When Jack would have spoken, Ryan put his fingers over Jack’s lips. “Let me guess. ‘Fire’ by the Ohio Players, ‘Burning Down the House’ by the Talking Heads, ‘Set Fire to the Rain’ by Adele.”

  “Are you saying you think I’m a one-trick pony?”

  “I’m saying…” Ryan’s teeth caught his lower lip for a second, and then he smiled again. “I think firefighters are hot.”

  Jack did something he couldn’t remember ever doing in a restaurant before—he wrapped his hand around the back of Ryan’s neck and brought him in for a kiss. Ryan was still smiling when their lips met. His warm skin was soft, and his breath smelled pleasantly like bourbon. One brief touch of lips between them led to two, then a deeper kiss; then Ryan sent his tongue out to play, and Jack opened up to him like he’d been waiting all his life. He tilted his head to give Ryan access. Ryan cupped his cheek to delve even deeper.

  The sweet spell that wove between them was broken by the sound of a plate hitting the table with a thud.

  “Your lemons, sir.” Their waiter turned and walked away before they could say anything else.

  Jack pulled back, slightly dazed. “I think you just broke a couple of hearts.”

  Ryan frowned. “What do
you mean, a couple?”

  “The waiter has a crush, and mine…” Jack licked his lips to savor the flavor of Ryan on them. “I think my heart just stopped for a second.”

  “I’m a nurse.” Ryan ran his thumb along Jack’s jawline. “I can tell you that’s not likely.”

  “You have no idea what you do to me.”

  “Of course I do.” Ryan deflected. “I’m all that. That’s how I know if you had a first-date playlist, I’d pass your test without breaking a sweat.”

  “I think I have…” Jack took out his phone and searched his playlist. “Yep. ‘Closer.’ Nine Inch Nails. Pow.”

  Ryan gave a shocked gasp. “What will the neighbors think?”

  “I don’t know what your neighbors think. Mine think I don’t do enough lawn care.”

  Ryan leaned in for another kiss—a sweet, chaste brush of lips that ended quickly. When he backed away, he said, “For a guy who doesn’t date, you do it really well.”

  Jack smiled. He doubted he could sustain any kind of charm, but as long as Ryan was feeling it, who was he to contradict the man? The waiter came back with a shrimp cocktail in a large glass goblet and a plate of stuffed mushrooms. They were still steaming, oozing cheese and crab, speckled with fresh herbs.

  Jack watched Ryan cut one into manageable bites. Ryan surprised him by picking up a forkful and holding it out so Jack could taste. “Here, blow. It’s still hot.”

  Jack’s gaze locked with Ryan’s when he puckered his lips to cool the garlicky bite with a whoosh of breath. He let Ryan slip the morsel into his mouth and began chewing. God, the mushroom was delicious—juicy and fresh, filled with blue crab and bread crumbs and cheese, broiled to molten, gooey perfection.

  Ryan licked the butter from his lips, and Jack moaned. Each stroke of Ryan’s tongue went directly to his cock.

  How is Ryan not taken?

  How has Ryan roamed the streets of north Orange County without being captured already?

  How has he escaped being snapped up and married and strapped into a baby Bjorn by the first gay man he brought to this very table?

  “I’m so clearly not in your league,” Jack blurted.

  Impatiently, Ryan raked his hair away from his face. Jack followed the motion with his own fingers. Ryan’s hair felt better, softer and finer, than it looked, and while Jack had thought it was plain pale blond, in the daylight he’d seen it was actually made up of about a hundred different shades—from the finest wheat to glistening gold to copper.

  “Can I tell you something?” asked Ryan. “I have the worst taste in men.”

  “I guess that explains a lot.”

  “No, don’t be like that. You seem great. I mean that. I’m worried I’ll blow my losing streak here.” He picked up a shrimp and dipped it into cocktail sauce. “I’m counting on that thing you have with my neighbor’s son to scotch the deal.”

  Jack decided not to pursue the subject right then, because Ryan held a shrimp between his teeth and lifted it, giving Jack access to a bite. Jack sampled the shrimp, getting spicy cocktail sauce all over his lips. Ryan took take care of that, laving Jack’s lips with his tongue, causing Jack’s cock to stir restlessly under the napkin he’d placed on his lap.

  Breathless, Jack lost himself in the flavor and scent and feel of Ryan’s tongue on his lips. When Ryan broke the kiss, Jack let out a shuddering sigh.

  Wait. I’m going to blow his losing streak?

  “What did you mean when you said—” Jack’s phone rang, and the moment was lost. Jack searched his pockets for his phone after Ryan gave him tacit permission to answer.

  “Masterson.”

  “It’s me,” said Eddie in his usual easygoing voice. “I’m calling in a favor.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I know we said you should take off until Monday, but can you go check out a job?”

  “Where?” Jack glanced at Ryan. Damn. It looked like it was going to be a good night too.

  “The Angel Motor Lodge. Sam called me on my personal cell, but I’ve got tickets for Tango Argentina at the Performing Arts Center, and Gabe’s working another scene.”

  The Angel was a dank little place that reportedly catered to the hourly trade in one of the worst areas of Anaheim. He and Gabe had a long-standing arrangement with the owner. Between overdoses and violent crime, the Angel brought them enough business to make Sam a VIP. “Now?”

  “As soon as you can. They’re going to need a board-up, because one of the windows got shot out. Kim will meet you there with a truck. If she can find him, she’ll bring Jerry.”

  “All right. I’ll text her. I’m at an early dinner, but maybe in an hour or so, give or take drive time?”

  “Perfect. Thanks.”

  “You’re going to Tango Argentina?”

  “Don’t say it like that. It’s hot.”

  “Have fun.” Jack ended the call.

  “You have to go?”

  “Not until after dinner, but yeah.” Jack took a sip of his soda. He relived the memory of Ryan’s tongue licking sauce from his lips. “Sorry.”

  “Too bad.”

  “I need to supervise a board-up and write up some paperwork.”

  “I could go with you,” Ryan offered. “We don’t have to end the evening. We could go back to my place after you’re done.”

  “I don’t know. It’s likely to be an ugly scene. There was a shooting.”

  “I’ll be fine. It’s not like I don’t know what I’ll see. I’ll get the waiter. What do you want to eat?”

  “Loaded question.” Jack leaned over and raked Ryan’s earlobe with his teeth. Ryan smelled so goddamn good it should be illegal. “I want to eat you, of course. I want to start with your toes and nibble my way up your calves and munch on the backs of your knees, then move up so I can lick your balls and take your dick in my—”

  “Maybe I should drop something under the table and let you go after it,” Ryan whispered.

  “Uh…” Right. The image that conjured was dazzling. “Okay.”

  “I’m kidding.” Ryan patted his hand. “Even I probably wouldn’t go that far.”

  The conversation wasn’t doing anything to soften Jack’s inconveniently hard cock, and considering they were in a public place and he had to go to work, he ought to be thinking with his big head and not his little one.

  “Later, I promise.”

  Ryan nodded and rephrased. “What food do you want the waiter to bring?”

  “Surprise me.”

  “That ought to be easy.” Ryan’s smile was sinister, and Jack responded to it the same way he responded to everything about this unexpected, flirtatious side of Ryan—with a quick intake of breath and a nervous laugh.

  “On the contrary. It’s not easy to surprise me at all,” Jack told him, “but somehow, you always do.”

  Chapter 15

  Jack pulled the hybrid past the manager’s office and into the parking lot of the Angel Motor Lodge. The place was a standard-issue motor court with two stories of small, nondescript rooms surrounding a parking lot with an empty fenced-off pool. In the gathering darkness, the only source of light came from yellow security lamps on the ground floor and whatever light cracked through tears in the rooms’ ancient drapes.

  “Ah, shit.” Ryan’s dress shoes crunched over broken glass as he surveyed the scene. “What the hell happened here?”

  “Guy caught his wife cheating.” Sam spoke from ten feet down the motel’s upstairs gallery where he didn’t have to look into the room. He had the clipboard Jack gave him and was busy filling out paperwork. How he could see what he was writing in the gloom was anyone’s guess. “He broke through the door and started shooting, and the wife’s boyfriend returned fire. Blew out the window. Police cleared the scene over an hour ago.”

  Jack didn’t ask what had happened to the victims. The blood told its own story. All three had probably been hit, and from the way things looked, it was hard to imagine they’d all survived. Maybe someone had.

&nb
sp; “The course of true love ne’er did run smooth,” Sam added. “That’s Shakespeare.”

  “Yep.” Jack glanced down at the blood-spattered glass beneath his feet, then over at Ryan. “Nothing’s better for my business than true love.”

  Maybe the call was a timely intervention. Jack had allowed himself to start a little fantasy at the restaurant, but hadn’t he figured love out already? Hadn’t he told himself a hundred times?

  Nothing comes from getting attached to people but pain.

  “Anything I can do, Jack?” Ryan’s nearness startled him.

  “No, thank you.” Jack turned to measure the window for Kim and Jerry, who waited next to the truck on the ground level. He turned to reassure Sam. “We’re going to get this boarded up and take care of the glass and blood out here tonight. Eddie said he’d call and schedule a team for the interior as soon as possible, all right?”

  “Fine.” Sam hugged the clipboard to his bony chest. “You know, when my folks bought this place, the neighborhood was so different. I’d hate to know what they’d think if they saw it now.”

  “Sorry.” Jack wished he had more to offer.

  “Not necessary.” Sam shrugged and headed back to the office. “I’ll get the rest of this signed and copied. Stop by the office on your way out. Thanks for coming.”

  “Anytime.” Jack absently rubbed his aching knee. He had a high tolerance for pain—always had—but since he’d taken his career-killing fall, his pain was chronic. He thought of it like an unpleasant relative who came and stayed too long. Sometimes the bastard’s voice got shrill.

  Pain wasn’t anything he couldn’t live with. What choice did he have? He dealt with it every day. But he’d exhausted himself physically cleaning Ryan’s place the day before, and today he’d been on his feet too damn long. The normal, low-level ache he lived with felt more like burning agony now. It reached deep into his muscle and bone, throbbing so insistently he could feel its pulse in his eyeballs.

  Jack leaned against the railing overlooking the courtyard and pretended nothing was out of the ordinary as sweat cooled on his forehead. Since his accident, he’d become the world’s best actor.