“For the record,” Michaels said, against his jaw. “No. That’s not how I get off.”
Judge’s cock was hard at the dark sexiness dripping from Michaels tone. He watched that thick ass walk away and back up the stairs. He dropped his wrench to the ground and palmed his himself through his leathers. Damn him. He looked at his watch; it was almost eight.
“Stay, Bookem.” Judge threw on his leather coat and got in his truck. He was going into the next town to get some fucking Teflon tape from Lowe’s.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck, was I thinking! Was I about to kiss him? Shit! Michaels cursed himself back up the steps and into the bar. Did he want to get punched in the mouth? Can’t just go around seducing straight men. He posted back up at the counter and ordered another beer. There were two men behind it taking orders and two cooks in the back with Linda. They all came in at six and it seemed like twenty-plus hungry, overworked townspeople came in an hour later. There were two men playing pool, and a young couple dancing to a slow record that was playing on a stereo in the other corner. Most of the people looked content with their dinners and the college football game playing on the television.
“Want another shot?” the taller of the two bartenders asked.
Shit. Maybe that was why he was acting the way he was. He’d had four shots and three beers so far. Definitely getting close to his limit. What the hell? “Sure.”
“Looks like you’re trying to drown some problems,” Linda said, dropping off a plate of chili fries to the man two seats down from him.
“No ma’am. Just relaxing,” Michaels lied.
“Mmm hmm.”
Michaels watched her leave again on that same note. He rubbed his forehead, while the guys behind him cheered at the football game. It was getting close to nine. Maybe he’d just call it a night, he had a good enough buzz going that he could probably sleep as soon as he showered and hit the bed. He went behind the bar, ignoring the strange looks from the two bartenders. Pushing open the swinging door, Linda was cleaning up while two other woman filled the last of the orders before the kitchen closed at nine.
“Michaels, what are you doing back here? Did you want something else to eat, honey?”
“Um. No, ma’am. And you can call me Austin. Only the guys I work with call me by my last name.” He smiled. Linda was sweet. She reminded him of his late grandmother, just as loving and kind as his mom. It was clear she wasn’t Judge’s mother, but he could see the adoration in his eyes for her.
She wiped her hands on her apron and gently patted his cheek. “I’d like that. Austin it is. Now, are you hungry?”
“No. I think I’m gonna go on and go to sleep. I think Judge said we were staying here. Do you guys have enough room?”
“Oh, of course. Judge’s room is on the second floor on the right and there’s a guest room on the left, bathroom is at the end of the hall, there’s fresh linen. You’ll have to ignore the mess in Judge’s room, he’s not the neatest, and he forbade me to go in there and clean.”
Michaels frowned. Why would he be staying in Judge’s room? “If it’s okay, I’ll just stay in the guest room.”
She looked like that was an absurd suggestion.
Is she saying that Judge is…? “Linda is Ju—” A loud crash and angry voices from out in the bar penetrated his hazy mind. Michaels quickly dropped what he was about to say and rushed into the main room. Two men were squaring off, while others scrambled to get out of their way. The shoving started up before Michaels could get around the bar. One of the guys fell over a chair, hitting the hardwood floor with an an angry crash. His face was beet red as he worked his way up to retaliate. Michaels jumped in between the two men. “Alright, knock it off or take it outside!” he barked, in his commanding voice.
The one that had fallen pushed his chest into Michaels’ hand, still seething. “You piece of shit, it’s a football game. We’re just having some fun.”
“Real fucking funny asshole!” the other guy yelled back.
Michaels didn’t know what the fight was about, and he didn’t care. But he wasn’t going to let these drunk fools trash Judge, Sr.’s place.
“Hey! I don’t care. Just shut up and sit down. Or leave.” Michaels looked them both in the eye.
“Who the hell are you? You can’t throw me out,” the shorter one argued.
“No. But I can,” Judge, Sr. said, with a weary voice. He looked tired, like the ruckus had woke him. He was leaning heavily on a cane as he peered down at them from the upstairs railing.