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With a smile, I held it out to Simon and watched his eyes go wide. “Want to marry me?” I asked.
Simon stared at me, seeming to assess whether I was truly joking or not. Truth? I wasn’t actually sure. Also truth? If Simon said yes, I would do it in a heartbeat.
“Possibly,” he finally said. “Ask me again in a year after we’ve had a chance to get to know each other.”
It was my turn to stare, and then I gathered him in my arms. “If we do get married,” I said, “we have to serve this meal at the reception because it was…” I kissed the tips of my fingers then spread them outward in a chef’s kiss. “…absolute perfection.”
Man Down
It was always strange to see Prowl empty, Corbin thought as his footsteps echoed on the dance floor. No people, no flashing lights, no pulsing synth beat. The lingering mixture of sweat, alcohol, perfume, and cologne, along with a hefty dose of pheromones still scented the air, but that was to be expected. Prowl was one of the most popular clubs in San Francisco. There was always a party when the doors were open.
Tonight, though, the doors weren’t opening. At least not for the public. It was a Monday night, and the club was hosting a private party. A going away party. Jackson, the club’s lead bartender was leaving, and Corbin was not happy about it. Not by a long shot. And not because Jackson was, hands down, one of the reasons Prowl was so successful. Gorgeous, sexy, flirty, and with a talent for creating drinks that were deliciously intoxicating works of art and mixing them with the incredible skill of a world-class juggler. He was, in a word, stunning.
It wasn’t just the hit Jackson’s departure might have on his bottom line that had had Corbin grumpy and out of sorts since the man had given notice. Jackson had also starred in most of the late night and early morning fantasies Corbin had had in the two years since he’d walked through Prowl’s doors and stunned Corbin with his flair bartending acrobatics. Bordering on obsession, Corbin had never acted on his attraction. Jackson was an employee and that was a line Corbin would never cross.
Now Jackson was leaving. He hadn’t told Corbin where he was going, only said it was time to change things up in his life and assured Corbin he wasn’t going to another club in San Francisco. I’d never do that to you, he’d said.
So, Corbin was throwing him a going-away party. It was the least he could do to ensure he got one last look at the man who’d inspired some of his hottest dreams.
A few hours later, the music was pumping, the drinks were flowing — a set menu of some of Jackson’s best creations — and people were having a good time. It was an intimate gathering of close to two hundred of Prowl’s employees, their significant others, and Jackson’s friends.
Corbin was behind the bar for the first time in years and taking a fair amount of good-natured ribbing from his employees because he couldn’t do anything more complicated than vodka tonics and handing over bottles of beer. Being behind the bar, though, let him watch Jackson as he worked his way around the room, then made his way to the dance floor.
How had Corbin never known Jackson could move like a dream? Of course, he would, his skills as a flair bartender shouldn’t have made it a surprise, but the man moved like a professional dancer, all lanky muscles and long, graceful lines. A couple of times, Jackson had caught Corbin watching and locked eyes with him, a sly grin on his face as he gyrated his hips and thrust against the man in his arms like they were having sex.
All Corbin could do was groan deep in his throat, hoping to keep the sound from being audible, but he wasn’t going to look away if he didn’t have to. As of yesterday, Jackson was no longer his employee, so Corbin was going to look his fill tonight and hope to stock away enough memories to last him for the rest of his life. It wasn’t that Corbin didn’t want or hadn’t had relationships in the past, it was that no one else had interested him from moment Jackson walked through Prowl’s doors.
The evening wore on, and Sarina, who was taking over as his lead bartender, insisted Corbin needed to take a break.
“You’ve put out a great spread, and the food’s fantastic. You need to go try it,” she said and slid a Rim Job his way. It was one of Jackson’s signature creations.
Corbin knew it wasn’t worth the effort to refuse, so he picked up the drink and left the bar in her capable hands. In truth, he’d probably been more of a hindrance than a help to Sarina and Josh who were more than capable of dealing with a crowd this size. And, in truth, being able to indulge in a cocktail Jackson had created was kind of nice.
When he was working, Corbin restricted himself to drinking water or coffee. Owning and running a club meant there were an endless list of catastrophes waiting to happen each night, and Corbin never wanted his ability to respond to be compromised by alcohol. Forget about drugs. Corbin had never been interested, and he tried to keep the club as clean as possible. For the most part, he succeeded.
Without any food in his stomach, the potent drink went right to his head, so Corbin made his way over to the buffet. Sarina had been right. The food looked terrific. Prowl’s chef had outdone himself providing a feast for Jackson’s party.
Before Corbin had a chance to fill his plate, he felt someone step up behind him. They were close enough Corbin could feel the heat from their body and knew at once who it was by the way his own responded. Jackson. He turned and found the man staring at him, a grin crossing his beautiful face.
“Finally decided to join the party,” he said, that sexy-as-fuck silk-over-mahogany voice going straight to Corbin’s dick.
Corbin nodded, cleared his throat, then took an entirely too large gulp of the drink in his hand and coughed. Jackson’s grin grew broader.
“Glad to see you like my Rim Jobs,” he said. Just as Corbin raised the glass to his lips and took another mouthful, Jackson leaned in closer to whisper in Corbin’s ear. “I’m really good at them, you know.”
Only a mighty effort kept the liquid from spurting out of his mouth. Corbin swallowed. Speech was beyond him, so he simply stared at Jackson, willing him to fill the silence. He didn’t disappoint.
“Want to dance?”
Corbin nodded. Jackson took the glass from his hand, downed the remaining liquid in one go, and led Corbin onto the dance floor.
Holy shit, this was actually happening. Jackson pulled him close, put his arms around Corbin’s neck and began to move against Corbin’s body. He’d never been so self-conscious before. He was aware of every square inch that was touching Jackson and praying that his cock behaved itself.
Jackson hummed in his ear. “Come on, Cor,” he purred. “Relax. Or I’m gonna give you a Naughty Mind Fuck.”
It took a moment to register that this was Jackson’s legendary masterpiece. A ridiculous concoction that tasted like cherry-vanilla soda but was so incredibly potent, it was almost lethal. They limited it to one per person and sold it for three hundred and fifty dollars.
“Not if I’m footing the tab for this shindig,” Corbin said, his brain finally unfreezing enough for him to enjoy having Jackson in his arms. He looped them around Jackson’s waist and pulled him closer, which made the man sigh.
