“Not your scene?” Tristan asked. It just occurred to him that whereas he had loosened his tie and undone his top shirt button, Dylan’s suit remained completely in order.
“No, not so much,” Dylan responded, taking a good long gulp of his drink.
His eyes were drawn to the movement of Dylan’s Adam’s apple as he swallowed. Tristan mentally scolded himself for staring and quickly looked away. “I’d have thought this was every guy’s good time out. Is it a religious thing? Should we leave?” Tristan questioned, studying the guy closely, trying hard to figure him out. He’d actually been a puzzle since he stepped off that elevator when they first met.
“Nah, it’s fine. Everyone’s having a great time. I’m good,” Dylan answered. He glanced toward the stage, feigning interest. Tristan caught the move and got that the action was designed to derail the conversation, but Tristan wasn’t about to let it go.
“Are you religious?” Tristan pressed. Maybe the alcohol still had him questioning Dylan, because clearly the guy didn’t want to talk. Tristan took another drink, crunched on some ice, and lifted his near-empty glass toward the waitress assigned to them for the evening.
“Not really,” Dylan mumbled.
“You’re married, right? Afraid the wife’ll get angry?” Tristan questioned. That earned him a half-assed laugh and a scoff that indicated the absurdity of his question. Dylan downed the new glass full of liquor in a couple of swallows. One thing for certain, the guy could hold his alcohol. Tristan had lost count of how much Dylan had drunk that night, but there was no sign of him being under the influence. Religious Bible Belters surely didn’t drink that much or give those crazy, inconsequential looks when their wives were mentioned.
“Two more?” the waitress almost yelled over the blare of the music. Tristan nodded for the both of them, and when she was gone, his eyes were back on the perplexing man, staring hard, trying to figure him out. Dylan kept his gaze fixed on the stage. Interesting. Tristan loved puzzles, and Dylan was a big one. He just needed to work the pieces into place before it drove him insane.
“Why aren’t you up there enjoying the show?” Dylan asked unexpectedly, his defensive gaze landing on Tristan.
“I’m gay. This isn’t my scene at all.” Tristan hadn’t used those words for shock value since he’d been a teenager, but tonight he wanted a damn reaction out of the guy one way or another. Nothing except data centers seemed to penetrate that carefully laid facade. Dylan’s eyes widened and Tristan caught a hint of a blush as he glanced down and started to fidget with the corner of a napkin.
Maybe?
Tristan narrowed his eyes at Dylan’s body language and looked down his tense form. The suit pants were of the latest tight-fitting style. Tristan couldn’t help but notice Dylan’s package, and there was no way the guy was anything but flaccid, even with all these naked women roaming around. “You’re gay.”
Dylan didn’t immediately respond, but his jaw clenched and he didn’t bother to even look up at Tristan. He sat there and stared a hole into the table.
“Come on,” Tristan said, before he thought better of it. The waitress was back, two glasses in her hands. “Drink this and then this one,” he said, shoving both drinks toward Dylan. “I’m telling them we’re leaving. I’ve got a place I think you’ll like.”
Tristan got off the chair, but kept an eye on Dylan. He hesitated before walking away. Dylan still looked shell-shocked at his declaration. Instinct had him changing his mind. Maybe he shouldn’t leave him alone. He palmed his phone while pushing the drink closer to Dylan’s hand. He’d text Landry and let him know they were leaving.
“Drink faster,” Tristan instructed. They had two cars out front. He was taking one and taking Dylan with him. Finally Dylan did as he’d suggested, and like a seasoned pro, Dylan downed his drink and then Tristan’s. The pale color of his skin had him wondering if perhaps those drinks may be coming back up, but so far so good.
“Let’s go!”
“Where to?” Dylan asked. He didn’t move from his spot at the table. Tristan got the distinct impression Dylan meant more of a hell no, am I going anywhere with you.
“Trust me,” Tristan replied. He took Dylan’s arm as he grabbed his own suit jacket off the chair. “I promise, everyone will have their clothes on.”
That seemed to pacify Dylan. He stood, wobbled a bit, but righted himself pretty quickly. “What time is it?” Dylan yelled louder than the music.
“About ten. It’s still early.” Tristan followed Dylan toward the front. They hit the doors and Tristan looked around for his car. One pulled forward immediately. The driver jumped out, opening the town car door for them. Dylan got in first and scooted across the seat while Tristan followed, telling the driver where to take them. Dylan had moved as far away from him as possible, and he smiled at the gesture. A closeted gay man. How had he not figured that out sooner? Tristan’s phone vibrated, and he dug it out of his pocket.
“Did you get my text?” Tristan asked Landry as he answered.
“Yeah. He didn’t look like he was having too good a time.” Landry must have stepped outside, because as the music faded his voice became clearer.
“Yeah, it’s not his scene. I’m gonna take him over to the Executive Club, talk some business,” he said, looking Dylan directly in the eyes as he lied to Landry.
“Good. I’ll get these guys to the hotel in a couple of hours,” Landry said. “Amy did awesome with this one.”
“Yeah, she did. I only got one good shot of you in a compromising position. We’ll talk about that tomorrow.” Tristan chuckled and hung up before Landry could respond.
“I’m not sure I’m in the right frame of mind to talk about business,” Dylan said. He’d drunk quite a bit, yet not one of his words came out slurred. It was pretty damn impressive.
“I’m taking you to one of my favorite hangouts. It’s discreet, private, and dark. You won’t have to worry about anything.” Tristan didn’t push any further. He looked out the window as the driver drove toward his area of town.