Julian dropped his head between his shoulder blades, thanking the universe for this blessing.
“Mr. St. Clair, we were getting worried about you,” Ricco said.
“Call me Beckett.” The rich masculine timbre held hints of a deeply cultured southern accent, drawing Julian’s gaze to Beckett once again.
“A guy at one of Remington’s tables wants to buy your drinks tonight,” Ricco said to Beckett as he started to pour again. “He asked me to see if you’re interested when you came in.”
Julian’s head dropped forward; he couldn’t help his astonished stare. He got caught up in Beckett’s new look. Julian’s gaze narrowed to Beckett, admiring how he wore the hugely popular suit with the athletic cut. Beckett looked fashionable in a style that accented every one of his masculine curves and edges. He was clean-shaven with his hair styled and pushed back off his forehead. No cowboy hat to be found anywhere.
“Which table?” Beckett asked and turned toward the grouping of tables. His body angled to look where Remington pointed to a group of three men. Julian looked down the length of Beckett’s long body. He wasn’t wearing boots tonight or a tie. Instead, his collar was unbuttoned with a small amount of fur peaking from the opening. The look suited him. Julian’s fingers twitched to run over the man’s exposed skin. He’d bet Beckett had the same dark tan all the way down that expansive chest.
Beckett was mouthwateringly gorgeous in this new look. Who would have known the man could be even more handsome than Julian remembered?
Tonight, the man held an air of confidence that he didn’t usually have. Beckett lifted a hand to the men, grinned a sultry smile, and turned back to Ricco. “Buy his next round on me and tell him thank you, I’m flattered, but I’ve got my eye on someone else tonight.”
More than the words spoken, something compelled Julian to look Beckett straight in his eyes. Julian was never at a loss for words, yet his brain blinked out on him. He sucked in a breath because more than just his cock appreciated all those good looks focused his way.
“What did I miss?” Julian finally asked, clearing his throat, forcing himself to act casual and hold Beckett’s direct stare.
Damn, if Julian wasn’t beginning to feel like his old self again. The emotion of it was almost too much. He fought the excitement building inside him as he reached for his napkin and wiped his mouth.
“My phone call,” Beckett quipped in a teasing tone. “I heard you got my message. Why didn’t you call a guy back?”
Ricco burst out with a loud laugh, his brows shooting up at Beckett as he grabbed a hand towel, wiping his hands, staring in disbelief.
Julian wondered if all that rugged manliness affected Ricco like it did him.
“Answer his question, boss man,” Ricco teased. The towel in the bartender’s hand whipped out, popping Julian’s knuckles. What the hell was happening? Julian looked shocked over at the playful Ricco, especially as the line of waiters waiting for him to fill drinks grew.
“Worry about your damn self and fill the goddamn drinks. Why do I keep having to say that?” Julian slung out a hand to the waiters again gathering. Ricco’s gaze followed. Then he jumped to work, pulling glasses as fast as Julian had ever seen.
Julian shifted his gaze back to Beckett, who hadn’t turned away. It was a bit flattering. “You think because we shared a dance, I owe you a phone call?”
“No, not at all. I just enjoyed the dance and wanted to say as much,” Beckett said lightheartedly and stood to his full height, looking past the end of the bar to where Woofer sat quietly. “What’s he doing here?”
Julian instantly dropped his gaze to Woofer and his enormous paws. “Being a good boy.”
Maybe the six bottles of beer Beckett had downed with Thane and Arik in a little over an hour on an empty stomach fueled this sudden burst of confidence, or maybe the new suit made him finally feel like he fit with the club’s other patrons or maybe it was seeing Julian sitting casually at the end of the bar, eating his dinner, something Beckett had never seen before. Whatever the reason, Beckett grabbed the empty barstool close to where the dog sat and parked his ass right there, turning his body in Julian’s direction as he anchored his loafers on the bottom rung of the stool.
“So, does the good boy have a name?” he quipped in the same teasing tone he’d used before.
Julian’s pouty mouth quirked up in one corner as the manager chided Beckett in a playful tone with all the expected sass that Julian was known for.
“Woofer. Were you invited to take a seat here with me? I see a perfectly good table, a coveted one, in a prime piece of real estate in this club, going unused.”