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Randy’s ears pricked at the same time as the rest of his body hunched. He didn’t even need to hear the rest. Didn’t want to.
Apparently, however, his tongue worked independently of his brain.
“Considerate? You? C’mon, man, it’s Halloween, but we both know costumes only ru
n skin deep.”
Even in the low light coming from the strobe lights near the pool and the sconces in the hallway, Randy saw Tris’s eyes flash. “You have a problem with me? One that only showed up after we walked in the doors of this frigging wedding?”
He didn’t have anything to say. Anything that didn’t make him sound like a whiny asshole.
And yeah, he was being one right now. He could own that. Tomorrow he’d probably feel bad for it and offer to do Tristan’s side of the chore chart Randy had put up on the fridge door shortly after moving in.
Hey, stuff had to get done. Might as well make certain they didn’t live in a typical bachelor pad, bachelors or not. Tristan made sure the fridge stayed stocked. Randy handled a lot of the rest.
Right now? He was going to split before he said more and made things worse.
“Look, I’ve just decided weddings aren’t my scene. Not to mention this fucking costume.” Randy ran a finger along the collar of the damn near wet suit that clung to his body. Batman must be a fucking masochist. “I’ll just take the car back and you can get a ride with her.”
He tried to keep his voice even on the last word. He nearly succeeded.
Minus that little telling hitch at the end. The hitch that betrayed him as a horny idiot without the sense to get out of his own way.
“I knew it.” The steely glint in Tris’s eyes only intensified as his best friend got in his face. “You fucking want Juliet Reece.”
Chapter Two
Tristan Eves twitched his cape over his shoulder and dropped onto the couch near the study’s French doors. “Well, fuck.”
When Randy didn’t reply right away, he knew he was right. Tristan couldn’t even feign surprise.
His gut was always right. When building a recipe, when dealing with a woman—though they surprised him on occasion—and most assuredly with his friends.
No dude bitched about a woman unless she got under his skin.
Occasional griping was one thing. Kitchen talk was full of it thanks to most of his staff being male. And the one woman—his sous chef, Kendra—was gay. She bitched about women even more than they did.
Regardless, it had been a tell and Tristan had ignored it. Especially since his dick had been engaged from the first time he’d met Juliet Reece. Tonight hadn’t helped one bit. He’d spotted her across the room with that damn costume on and his cock had turned into a friggin’ heat seeking missile.
The incestuous life of the rockstars that were currently in his sphere made things very interesting. He’d known Hunter for what felt like forever, but the minute Kennedy McManus had laid him out on the marble floor of the Ace Hotel everything had changed. Including their friendship. Not necessarily for the bad, just different.
Now Tristan had musicians spilling out of the woodwork. Whether it was at the hotel where he worked as head chef at The Hollow, or the various parties he ended up at, his life had definitely changed. A year ago, he never would have imagined he’d be surrounded by so many celebrities.
Sure, they came into the Ace Hotel, but he was a behind the scenes guy. They didn’t care about the chef who put together the menu. The fame hungry and famous just wanted to be seen at the hotel built from the ashes of old Hollywood.
Retro was the in thing these days and the hotel was filled to the brim with drama. Add in a few mentions in the foodie magazines, and the novelty of his unconventional style in the kitchen—fuck white chef jackets, he loved color—and he got a little more play on social media.
It was all about buzz. His fusion style of California fresh and hints of New York elegance made for an eclectic menu that brought people in as well. He’d worked his ass off to get his own kitchen, but he’d balanced it by playing just as hard.
Juliet Reece was definitely the kind of woman a man played hard with. It really wasn’t surprising that his sometimes roommate and one of his best friends had a similar affliction. Not to mention that Juliet was in Rand’s sphere far more than Tristan’s.
He should be backing off, but he’d never been much for the rules of bro code. Especially when it came to a woman like Juliet. It was truly every man for himself.
“Tell me, were you ever going to make a move?”
Randy’s mouth firmed.
“Not an answer.” Tristan folded his arms over his chest.
