Seth and David

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October 15, 2012
Carina Press

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Previously published as "Happy Ending"

Seth and David

An excerpt from the third in the Men of Smithfield series

"Making a hex?" David leaned in, resting a small round tray next to my arm. He perched himself against the bar, in that narrow space between my hip and the next stool. Relaxed, he still kept his eye on the crowded tables. I kept my eye on him.

"Scared?" My drink arrived and I stirred the rocks. Jack Daniel's and sweet cola, my favorite nightcap. I was working on my third, which was probably more than necessary, but I felt good. Warm. Loose inside and out. At least I didn't have to drive.

"Scared of you? Not really. Don't overestimate your charm, big guy." He smiled and his blue eyes flashed with amusement. His stumpy pony tail curled against his collar, his tie was askew and he smelled of deep fried potatoes. Now that was a cologne to perk a man's interest. "Aren't you out a little past your bedtime?"

"Been working. I had a business dinner earlier. Decided to come back."

"Yeah, I saw you. You do that a lot."

A lot? He'd seen me here before. "I don't remember seeing you here until the other night. Did you just start?"

He shook his head. "I've been here off and on since high school. I think you see what you want to see and ignore the rest. I've seen you here plenty. I've even waited on you a time or two."

"No. Impossible. I would have remembered you." And now, I'd never forget him.

"Seriously. You used to come in with that guy who wears an ascot." He choked and tried to cover it with a cough. I was too busy picking my jaw up off my chest to be offended. "He looks like an aging preppy, but he's younger than you, right? Like early thirties?" He tipped back and laughed out loud this time, those blue gauges sparkling under the bar lights. A few heads turned. "I mean who wears an ascot? Fred Astaire? Is he a dancer? Somehow I can't see you with a dancer. Unless he's very limber. Is he very limber, Mr. Weston?"

"I wouldn't know. He could be living under a bridge these days," I said honestly.

"Really." David raised a brow mysteriously, then he grabbed his tray. His look turned assessing. "You know what? If I didn't know any better, I'd think you're following me."

What could I say that didn't sound like a lie? I wanted him. I figured the feeling was mutual or he wouldn't be lingering here beside me making small talk. I took a drink and chose my next words. "We should go out sometime."

I had the pleasure of watching him halt, surprise lifting his brows high. "Seriously? Out where? The day spa?"

"No. Out on a date."

"Really? After yesterday what makes you think I'd go out with you? You had sex with a massage table."

"A man likes to make a good first impression."

"Well, you certainly made a lasting one." David settled back against the bar again. "I don't know. A date with a pervert. What's that mean exactly? What does a date with you consist of?"

Clearly I amused him, but underneath he was game.

"We'd go somewhere."

"Yeah? Where would we go? Hypothetically. Where would you, Mr. Terse MBA Captain of Industry, Master of His Own Destiny, take someone like me out on a date?" He cocked his head, the soft light of the bar illuminating his stunningly intelligent face, and I wanted to press him down to the floor. Or spread him out on the bar. Or, inexplicably, to simply reach out and feel the texture of his kinked hair.

Then I caught what he said. He'd been asking around about me. He'd know about me, and Molly, and he remembered Quinn. Oh, he was more than gameóhe was a sure thing. "What do you mean, ësomeone like me'?"

I knew what he meant. I couldn't have been the only one who thought that he was a flake, but I still didn't like hearing him put it so directly.

"Please. Cut me a break. I know exactly what you think of me." He smiled. "So, where would we go?"

The crowd inside the Village swirled around us, but in the space between us, as David rested his elbows against the bar, we were alone in the bustling room, sharing this intimacy among strangers. His tie needed to be straightened and I fought another inappropriate, overwhelming urge. I had a lot of new, alarming urges when it came to David. This time, I wanted to open his shirt and taste the hollow where his clavicle scooped in and his skin would be pale and smooth and tangy. What was it about him?

I cleared my throat and laid it on thick. "Well. Seeing how it's summer, I'd maybe take you to the jazz festival or out for seafood on the shore. Maybe see a show in city."

He whistled. "On a date? Look at you, Mr. Richie Rich. But that's a lot of hoofing it. What about pizza and a movie? That's a good date."

"If I wanted to impress you, I'd take you into the city. Or down to the shore. That's what I'd do. We'd have lobster-in-the-rough at Abbott's." It was the sort of thing I had done in the past and had served to impress. I began to see the futility of that path.

"Well, let's pretend the barn doors are wide open and the milk's for free. Where would you take me out on a date?" He practically fluttered his eyelashes at me. Unbelievable. He actually wanted me to take him out on a dateónot a quick fuck, which was probably all he expected of me. Hell, it'd been exactly what I expected of myself.

But a slow smile crept up on me.

David waited, his eyes lit with encouragement and amusement and maybe a hint of caution.

"A real date, huh?" I pretended to think about it. "I'd invite you for dinner at the house, something that I probably purchased ready-made. You don't know this, but, uh, I don't cook. And then I'd take you back to your place and fuck you until you couldn't walk upright."

That startled a laugh right out of him. "Well, that's far more appealing than the jazz festival, that's for sure." He grabbed his tray and winked at me. "I'll catch up with you later, Seth." Then he strolled away, business as usual. I kept my attention glued on his tapered waist slimming down to that narrow, tight, tiny ass. Long white strings hung down and I had the urge to untie that package and get to the goodies that lay underneath.

Later?

Wait.

What? What the hell had just happened? I stopped myself from calling him back to explain. Were we going on a date? Should I call him? Did he want to hook up later? Or was that a brush off? I felt entirely out of the loop and utterly irrelevant; a different generation. Was later shorthand for meet me out back and I'll fuck you in the public restroom?

I sucked on a piece of ice, considering my options. It'd been a long time since I had sex with anyone other than myself. Not counting the massage table. But I wanted him. And he was willing. We could have a "real" date some other time.

My mind made up, I drained my glass, threw down a twenty and went out the back door, carefully hiding my erection. I hoped David would walk out the very same door at closing time and let me bend him over a sink.

copyright 2009-17, l.b. gregg