The Real Baxter (The Baxter Chronicles 1)

3

TRENT

My bladder hadn’t appreciated being ignored while I’d talked my head off for two hours straight. My back teeth were floating. I strode through the bar down a narrow hallway toward the restrooms and made a beeline to the short row of urinals, unzipped my fly, and took a quick glance around the dark space.

The walls were painted black, the floors were checkered, and unlike the chandelier vomit situation in the bar, the lighting here was sparse. There wasn’t much to see. And thankfully, no one here.

Which, of course, was when the door opened and a snazzily dressed dude wearing expensive-looking loafers stepped forward to use the urinal next to me.

Two guesses.

“Did you follow me?”

Seb huffed. “No, I thought you left.”

“Had to pee. Long drive ahead.”

“Me too.”

I frowned. “I hope you’re not thinking about driving anywhere. You’ve been soakin’ up booze like a sponge.”

“I’m not drunk,” he argued.

“You’re a little drunk. Don’t be stupid.”

“Excuse me?”

I did a double take, intending to diplomatically change the subject. But I was instantly aware of our precarious situation. We were two guys standing side by side with our junk out in a deserted public bathroom. I’d been in this situation many times, though not with the head of a major studio who I’d just made a fool of myself in front of. Oh yeah, and let’s not forget…he was really fucking hot.

None of that mattered.

Rule number one of dude bathroom etiquette was to keep your gaze forward. I knew from experience that accidental eye contact at a urinal could be pretty damn uncomfortable, and tonight had already been a bust. The last thing I needed was to get caught staring at Seb Rourke’s dick.

Too late.

Yeah, yeah, I looked away immediately, but not before I noted that he had a very nice cock. It was thick with a wide mushroom head and—what the fuck was I doing?

“You heard me. You need a ride,” I huffed gruffly.

“I have a ride, but I accept your invitation. By the way, I would have figured out you were American even if I hadn’t called Trish to check on you.”

“How?”

“Every British guy I’ve ever been with was uncut.”

“Huh? Wait.” I glared at him. Confession…my Italian and Philly sides came on strong in times like this. I think I’d tapped out my acting skills. In my defense, it had been a long day. And not a particularly good one. I was tired and hungry and had very few fucks left in the tank. It might take an act of God to get away from Seb without saying something I’d regret. “Were you eye-fucking my dick?”

Excuse me, something else I’d regret.

Seb wasn’t fazed in the slightest. He snickered, seeming more relaxed than he had been all evening. The Lagavulin must have finally hit him.

“No, no. Just an innocent observation.”

“See anything else?”

The corner of his lips lifted in a wicked lopsided smile. “Yeah, you have a freckle on your schmeckle.”

I glanced down on cue before giving him a scathing side-eye. Which he seemed to find hilarious. I didn’t get it. My mean look was good. Damn good. Anyone else would have zipped midstream and gotten the fuck out while they had a chance. Not Seb. He propped his hand against the wall, howling with laughter.

“What the fuck is the matta with you?” I fixed him with an incredulous stare as I zipped my jeans. “Oh, Christ, you really are drunk, aren’t you?”

“Almost, but not quite. On a scale of one to ten, I’m halfway to drunk. If I eat a pizza or a burger now, I’ll be fine. Those pretzels didn’t cut it. I need more carbs. Something greasy and fabulous. Are you in?” he asked, tilting his chin my way.

“Okay, first of all, get your hands off that wall. It’s disgusting. And second…no, I’m done acting for the night.”

“An actor is never done acting,” he pronounced, straightening from the wall.

“This one is.” I met his gaze in the shadowy mirror when he joined me at the sink. “Did you call your chauffeur or your personal Uber service or somethin’?”

“I’m not going home yet. I’m getting a burger. Something messy with secret sauce and extra cheese. Fries too.” Seb leaned against the basin as he dried his hands, like a man who had all the time in the world. “What’s your fast food go-to?”

I gave him the WTF look he deserved for prolonging our acquaintanceship with inane questions. He could have been having a good laugh with his buddies at the bar about the idiot actor who’d faked an accent to get his attention. Instead, he was shooting the shit with me about burgers. And he was serious, too. He had that intense “I want all your secrets” vibe again.

That kind of made sense when he thought he could pick my brain for inspiration. Now, it just confused me. I couldn’t figure out his angle, but I knew he still had one. I had no idea what he could possibly want from me. A distraction? Maybe, but why me? I wouldn’t hang out with me if I had a choice.