I flashed a tight smile that never reached my eyes. “I wouldn’t dream of it. As for Pierce…he’s a prima donna in real life, but he’s a great Baxter. Part James Bond, part Jack Ryan. But with more ice in his veins.”
“How’d you come up with that character? Or was Baxter someone else’s idea?”
His casual delivery held the right note of passing interest, but everything felt off. I was yammering away like a guest on a talk show. I never talked about myself with strangers. Ever. And I hadn’t come here to be interviewed. Then again, I still wasn’t entirely sure what I was doing.
“All mine. Look, I—”
“It’s fucking brilliant. Baxter is a genius character,” Trent replied, pointing at the guac. “Try this. It’s delicious.”
I skimmed a chip across the top, smoothing out the divots he’d made, and popped it into my mouth. “Mm.”
“Told ya. The margaritas aren’t bad either. Want one?”
“No, thank you.” I peered over his shoulder, shifting in my seat. “I should—”
Trent bumped my knee under the table in what I thought was supposed to be a comforting gesture. “Relax. You’re safe here,” he said as if reading my mind.
“No, I’m not.” I shook my head. “I make careless mistakes around you…rookie moves I’d fire anyone else for.”
“You can trust me, Seb.”
God help me…I wanted to, but I hadn’t built an empire by trusting just anyone. At the end of the day, I didn’t know him. He was just a guy I’d had sex with…twice. And that wasn’t a special distinction.
But I liked Trent. There was something fierce about him. He had the looks and demeanor of a badass but the sensitivity of an artist. Someone who’d studied behavior to perfect his craft and had learned how to deal with all facets of humanity. Including unexpected head cases like myself.
But trust…no.
“Thanks, but—”
“Like I’ve told you, I’m not gonna sell you out,” he said in a low tone, resting his elbows on the table.
“There’s nothing for sale here that hasn’t been bought before,” I quipped, wincing at how pathetic that sounded as I pushed away from the table.
Trent grabbed my wrist. He let go right away, but leaned in close, staring into my eyes as though he could see into my soul.
“Even if I wanted to, there’re a million confidentiality clauses in the contract I signed. I don’t want to deal with a lawsuit after the fact…so, chill. I’m safe.”
“Right. Thanks. Look, I was thinking about you and…I just wanted to let you know I think you made the right move working for Charlie. Get ahold of me in November and we’ll find a spot for you. In the meantime, take care of yourself.” I eased off the stool and pulled my wallet from my pocket.
“You try to pay me for a glass of water and three chips, I’m gonna get pissed.”
I stilled my hands and squinted at him. “All right. Thank you and good luck.”
“You too.”
I squeezed his shoulder, lingering for a beat too long because I just couldn’t help myself. Then I turned to the exit with my head down.
Fine. I admit it.…
I wanted Trent Mackay.
I wished I could go back to that table, straddle his thighs in the middle of the bar, and stick my tongue in his mouth. I wished I could order two margaritas and another guac, clean the bowl with my fingers, and feed it to him. I wished I could while away the hours trading “get to know you” stories as if we were on an impromptu date where I didn’t need an excuse to stare at him, lust after him, and count the minutes till I had him alone.
But I couldn’t have him at all.
Trent was a complication I couldn’t risk. For his sake or mine. I’d learned a long time ago that thinking with my dick only caused bigger problems. In fact, being here at all was a reckless move. But since I felt a hell of a lot better than I had when I walked in, I’d call it a win.
And tomorrow, I’d focus on constructively working through my misspent angst and melancholy. Baxter-style.
What’s Baxter-style, you ask?
Great question. Baxter was all about adventure. High-flying, seat-of-your-pants, around-the-world adventure. There were bad guys to capture, innocent citizens to rescue, and nations to save. So far Baxter had taken down gnarly gangs, corporate thieves, government spies, and drug cartels. He was bad to the bone. In a good way.
Of course, he had some help. He usually bumped into a lovely woman with dubious connections who inevitably joined forces with our hero to eradicate evil and restore justice. Romance and sex were implied but never shown onscreen. There was no point in having the audience get attached to a secondary character who wouldn’t be in the next film. Baxter wasn’t the domestic type. He didn’t go home to a wife and kids in the burbs where he barbecued with friends and coached soccer on weekends. He just wasn’t that guy.