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GradyDonehuefuckinghatedparties, and New Year’s Eve parties were the worst of them all. Each year seemed shorter than the last, and it wasn’t like the new year was actually going to bring anything “new.” Just more of the same old shit.
The only thing that usually saved them was the amount of alcohol that was available at said parties. He hadn’t originally meant to drink; he’d driven in the hopes he could leave as soon as humanly possible. But the amount of socialising he’d been forced to get through meant that alcohol was the only solution. As it was, he was only halfway to being plastered, but it was only—he rolled up the sleeve of his light-blue button-down shirt as he twisted his wrist and checked his black watch—twenty to twelve; he had plenty of time left.
Being newly single and putting himself in a situation where he was surrounded by couples hadn’t been one of his finer ideas. He could read a room, and his bitter thoughts about what relationships turned a person into wouldn’t be well received. He should have declined when his work partner, Quinn Hughes, had invited him. Grady wasn’t good company right now, stewing in his anger and his hurt and all the other emotions that he wasn’t interested in reviewing that were churning in his gut. He should have said no, stayed home, and drank there. He had better alcohol anyway.
“You look like you’d prefer to be walking to the gallows than here,” a voice to his left said. He turned to find a man he’d been introduced to earlier in the night. Lake McKenna. A friend of a friend of a friend. Unfortunately for Grady, his work as a New South Wales police detective meant that he never forgot a name or a face. Even ones that were connected to insignificant people he would never see again. It was a curse.
“Why? Did you see one on the way in?” Grady asked sarcastically.
Lake smiled, flashing dimples that were way too cute to be legal. He was a good-looking guy, and Grady had looked his fill when he’d met him because he was only human. He had nice hazel-brown eyes and short, dark hair that was swept to the side, his ears sticking out a little more than was probably considered “attractive,” though Grady liked them. The three-quarter sleeved navy-and-white baseball tee he wore was tight against his flat stomach, and the distressed denim jeans gave him a frat-boy look that shouldn’t have been as sexy as it was. The beaded and leather bracelets on his left wrist and the thin chain necklace Grady could see poking out of his shirt completed the look. Grady didn’t want to hit that, but window shopping was an acceptable pastime.
“I think they were outlawed a while ago, sorry.” Lake genuinely looked sorry, which was just… bizarre. Grady was waiting for the punchline. “But I could buy you a drink?”
Not a very inventive punchline. Grady raised his eyebrow. “Is that supposed to be the same thing? Because I hate to break it to you, but one is not like the other.”
“It’s more like a consolation prize.”
“I can get my own consolation prize.” It wasn’t like they were at a bar. They were at someone’s home—another friend of a friend, and honestly, Grady was sick of learning people’s names—and he could just go to the kitchen and get what he wanted. There was enough alcohol in the house to sink a ship.
“It’s like food,” Lake said brightly. “Always tastes better when someone else makes it.”
Grady doubted that was true. “And what qualifications do you have?”
“Well, I’m an Army pilot,” Lake said. He stood up straighter. “A major to be exact. Got my wings at nineteen; I’m well versed in all manner of vehicles—ground and air—but I specialise with the S70 Black Hawk, the ARH Tiger, the CH-47F Chinook and the MRH90 Taipan. I prefer the Hawk personally; they’re smoother. I know first aid, Morse code, aerodynamics, and even some meteorology. But basically, if it has an engine, I can drive or fly it.”
Grady blinked. Uh. “I meant for making me a drink.”
“Oh. Well, that probably makes more sense. I did wonder why I was suddenly in a job interview.” Lake grinned without a hint of embarrassment. “I only have home experience in drink making, but Iamgood at taking direction, and I enjoy learning new skills.”
Was he for real? Grady looked around in case Quinn—or more likely one of his lovers, definitely Sebastian Devlin, the asshole lawyer—was watching from a corner and laughing at him. He would not put it past Sebastian to have found a puppy and pointed him in Grady’s direction with instructions: “Go and drive him nuts, and I’ll give you a hundred bucks.”
He didfindSebastian when he looked, but the guy was whispering something in Quinn’s ear, and Quinn was smiling at the ground. Disgusting. Grady wished he were anywhere but there. Not that he wasn’t happy for Quinn, because he was… as much as he could be when one of the three men Quinn was now involved with wasSebastian,but being around happy couples was hard for him right then.
Lake was waiting patiently when he looked back, that smile still plastered on his face like he was a Dutch Golden Age painting or maybe the next Eros in theAmor Vincit Omniabecause it was a little mischievous, like he was waiting for Grady to say something cheeky. He’d be disappointed because Grady wasn’t going to.
“Well, lead the way. Or is there a waiting period for this drink?”
“Bossy,” Lake said as he headed towards the kitchen. He turned back and winked. “I like bossy.”
Jesus Christ. This is why Grady didn’t like going places. He always found the weird ones.
Weird, yes, but at least this one had a phenomenal ass. A perfect bubble butt, just asking to be caressed and worshipped. Grady was an ass man, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen one quite so beautifullyround. Not on someone who wasn’t an ice hockey or professional tennis player anyway. Even then, this one was right up there.
“Ten more minutes!” someone shouted behind them from the living room they had just left. They were probably on the couch, watching the countdown on the TV. Grady had blocked the noise out over an hour ago.
Good. Once it was midnight, Grady no longer had an obligation to stay. He had a bed calling his name. And an Uber if he could find one this time of night. Fuck, he hoped so. Plenty of people were out at bars and stuff, weren’t they? Prime night for bringing home a solid pay cheque.
“Okay,” Lake said loudly, slapping his hands on the counter with a loudsmackthat sounded like it hurt. “What’s your poison of choice?”
“Alcohol,” Grady deadpanned.
Lake shook his head with a mournful sigh. “Bzzz. Not specific enough. Next.”
“You’re the bartender today,” Grady said. “Bartender’s choice.”
“Do you trust me?” Lake tilted his head.
No. “I just met you.”
