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“Ferment?”
“Okay that word is too big for my brain right now,” Robbie said, and winced. “Go and feel up the muscles and men for me. Someone should get some enjoyment out of them.”
Elliot pursed his lips. “I don’t know…”
“I’m just gonna sit here. Not going anywhere,” Robbie promised, crossing a finger over his chest.
“Your heart is on the other side, genius.”
Robbie switched sides and did it again. “I’m just gonna drown my sorrows so my body hurts tomorrow and will take my mind off my broken heart.”
“Aww, cheer up, Buttercup. Your Prince Charming will come to you one day soon.”
“Well, until then”—Robbie gestured for the bartender—“I’m going to drink myself into a deep slumber in the hopes that maybe he’ll come on me, or, you know, at least kiss me back to life.”
Elliot placed a hand on Robbie’s arm. “Do not go anywhere. I’ll be back for you.”
“I can’t feel my legs to move, so… I’ll stay. Like a good little boy.”
“Don’t know how good you are, but…” Elliot chuckled, then before he headed out to the dance floor, said, “Where’s your phone?”
Robbie dug into his pants pocket and pulled it free.
Elliot opened the contacts and scrolled down to his name, and then set it on the bar in front of Robbie. “You need me, call. Do not leave this seat.”
Robbie touched his fingertips to his temple in a sloppy salute and then hiccupped. “Yes, sir.”
“Okay. Be back for you soon.” Elliot then turned to the bartender and said, “No more after this for him.”
When the bartender nodded, Robbie’s mouth fell open. “Hello, you’re not my mother.”
“Lucky for you. She’d be spanking your ass right now, not to mention your sisters, and I’m sure you’d much rather have that done by a man who would then pound it afterward. I’ll be back.”
Robbie dismissed Elliot with a wave of his hand, and then took great interest in scrolling up and down his list of contacts, searching for someone to occupy his time. It wasn’t until he saw Julien’s number that he realized how drunk he was, because that was the only excuse he could think of as to why he hit call.
Well that, and: If there’s a bad decision to make, I will make it.
“DO YOU LIKE it?” Julien asked from where he sat at the dining room table opposite his husband, Joel Priestley, who had just taken a bite of the new dish he had prepared for him this evening.
In the process of compiling the final entrees for his restaurant opening next month, Julien waited on edge for the final vote that always went to Priest, currently taking a sip of his Pinot Noir that had been paired with tonight’s meal.
Priest swallowed and brought a napkin to his mouth to gently wipe the corners of his lips. Julien couldn’t hold his tongue anymore, and said, “Your silence is killing me, mon amour.”
“And your impatience is killing me. Let me savor it, Julien. Let me enjoy what you spent all day perfecting.”
“All week,” Julien corrected him. “And you know I’m more one for instant gratification.”
“Yes, but even you curb that when instructed to do so. Now, do so, and let me enjoy my meal.”
Julien bit his tongue and snapped open his napkin before laying it across his lap. Priest raised an eyebrow, challenging him to speak, but Julien was smart enough to know when to open his mouth and when not to. He’d purposely set the stage tonight for a fine dining experience. From the elegant place settings, to the wine glasses and folded napkins, and then he’d delivered his winning number: Magret de canard aux cerises avec une sauce au Porto. Seared Duck Breast with Cherries and Port Sauce.
He watched Priest closely as the sharp blade of his knife sliced through the tender meat and he brought it to his mouth, and Julien licked his lower lip in anticipation.
He’d always loved watching Priest eat a meal. Some might think that was strange, but not to him, a creator of edible art by profession. Watching Priest take his time to enjoy a creation of his was incredibly satisfying, if not, at times, frustrating. There was something highly erotic about cooking and eating a meal with the person you loved, and long ago Julien had realized the weight and importance of Priest’s approval and how it never failed to excite when he got it.
“Viens ici,” Priest said, as he lowered his fork to the plate and looked over at Julien, expectation in his eyes.
Julien got to his feet, and as he rounded the end of the table, he kept his eyes on the man watching him in total silence.
Chaos wrapped in classic sophistication. That’s my husband, Julien thought, because only Priest could sit stoically in a room and yet make it feel as though it were vibrating with electricity from the intensity of his stare.
