It's Complicated: A Reservations Story

“I’m being asked if table thirty-three can incorporate thirty-four into their party.”

Julian looked over to see a crowd of men gathered around the larger high-boy table. “No, give it some time. St. Clair’s a good customer. Get some barstools from the back, and let’s see if he arrives.”

“Hey, Julian. Have we heard from thirty-four? Is he coming in tonight?” Remington, another waiter, asked from about the midway point down the bar where he loaded his tray with cocktail glasses. “One of my guests wants to know.”

“Who wants to know?” Julian looked over to Remington’s section of tables as if a large red arrow would point him out.

“The older guy at table twenty-seven.”

Julian’s gaze locked on that table. All the men looked older, sophisticated, well put together, and handsome. Damn.

“Which one?” Julian asked.

“The older one,” Remington repeated, then turned with his tray full of drinks in his hand. “Is he coming tonight?”

So, the Marlboro Man had built a fan club involving more than just the club’s waiters and bartenders. Julian’s possessive side stood on guard. “We’re holding the table for him, but he’s late.”

Julian dug into the salad with his fork, stuffing a big bite into his mouth, and reached for the untouched glass of water nearby. He chomped out his frustration that the big, tall cowboy hat wearing mystery man was building some possible hookups.

Julian had watched as Beckett sat alone for hours at his table until some of the waiters were cut from their shifts and ended up joining the guy. Beckett had become a welcome patron in the club and his table a safe place for most of the guys who worked for Reservations to gather.

No, Julian hadn’t missed all the long lingering looks Beckett tossed his way. He liked the way Beckett watched him. Those intriguing brown eyes and that appealing gaze. Beckett was all man, every single inch of him. He knew that for a fact because he’d rubbed himself against all that masculinity when they’d danced.

An unexpected sensation had Julian dropping the fork in his hand to the plate, his gaze lowering to his slacks-covered cock. Holy hell, the way it plumped painfully against his zipper had his heart thumping wildly in his chest. The damn thing did, in fact, work. How long had it been since he’d grown hard? He couldn’t remember. Tears of happiness sprung to his eyes, making him fight to swallow the lump forming in his throat. Damn, it felt good.

How much had he had to drink? Regardless of his actions over the last few days, Julian had given up alcohol. Should he have been drinking this whole time?

“Boss, you good?” Ricco tapped the edge of the bar to gain Julian’s attention.

He paid the bartender no heed, not wanting to lose this moment. Julian only had two cocktails over the last couple of hours. That meant he was practically sober, yet his cock was working again for the first time in a long while.

Under Ricco’s intense scrutiny, Julian’s cock deflated. He closed his eyes, bringing forth images of Beckett sitting alone at his table, rarely speaking to anyone. Every single time Beckett showed up or planned to leave for the night, his gaze sought out Julian. No matter how hard Julian fought the urge to turn Beckett’s way he eventually would turn, helpless to do anything but.

Beckett would smile and touch the brim of his hat. Fuck, what a sexy move. Beckett’s strong jaw and full lips, his dark tanned skin… Julian’s dick swelled at warp speed.

Hell yeah. Julian was helpless to stop the tear that built enough steam to trickle down his cheek. This had to mean he was healing, right?

“Julian. You good?”

He opened his eyes, prepared to share with Ricco exactly why he was great right now. His hand reached to wipe away the tear when the unique scent of outdoors, sunshine, and exotic spices hit his senses. Unmistakably Beckett. He looked over to see an expansive masculine chest and broad shoulders leaning into him as Beckett busted a move to avoid a collision with one of the busboys.

Julian lifted his gaze. Of course, he held all of Beckett’s undivided attention. They locked gazes for one, maybe two long seconds, before Ricco’s hand slapped down hard on the bar top, pulling Julian’s gaze toward Ricco.

“What?” He said the word with maybe three syllables of frustration.

Ricco showed zero cares about Julian’s obvious annoyance “Are. You. Goooda?”

“Mind your business. Concentrate on the job you’re being paid to do.” Julian motioned to the line of waiters standing at the bar, waiting for their drinks. But even that only held his attention for the briefest of moments before he happily lowered his gaze again to his dick. The damn thing was rigidly hard, straining against his form-hugging pants. Holy fuck. The relief was staggering.