“Dallas, it’s just dinner. I enjoyed your company. We’re business partners. Have dinner with me.” Delivered.
“I don’t know if you know this about me, but I don’t like to be ignored. It’s only fair to collect a prize. I’m harmless. Dinner tonight.” Delivered. He had snickered at that one. Dallas should be the last person on the planet to consider Greer harmless.
“Dallas.” Delivered.
No matter how Greer had been acting since that first night at the club, and regardless of his recent revelation of his newfound boredom with his life, there was one thing staying consistent day in and out: Greer wanted Dallas. That had been abundantly, if not redundantly, made crystal clear to him.
Greer thought about the guy way too often and flat out needed to get to know Dallas better. For the most part, it really had nothing to do with sex, but if he could somehow swing Dallas into the sexual side of things, he wouldn’t necessarily walk away. All right, he couldn’t even pretend that lie was the truth with all the steps he’d taken. He wanted to fuck Dallas’s brains out.
Greer had tackled his infatuation with a next-level determination. He’d been crushing on Dallas like a schoolboy. He wasn’t certain he’d ever crossed those lines, even while in school. He was powerless to stop his thumbs from typing on the small keyboard, writing another text message.
“Look, I enjoyed your company. Maybe I crossed a line, and if so, I’m sorry. I believe we could be friends, even if it’s nothing more than friendly work colleagues. A dinner at a nearby grill shouldn’t be out of the question.” Delivered.
Flashes of Dallas’s discomfort at their meeting the other morning ran through his rampant thoughts. He’d relished those shy, hesitant glances without any consideration for Dallas’s feelings. Greer started pacing again. From the very first exchange, all those days ago, Dallas had told Greer numerous times that he was straight. Dallas obviously wanted to be into women exclusively.
Greer could easily conjure the feel of Dallas’s ass pressing against his rigid cock as they danced, and the way Dallas’s fingertips caressed across Greer’s lower lip. He could visualize the instant flush around Dallas’s collar when Greer had walked into the conference room. Those things told a different story.
Hell, Dylan had even noticed Dallas’s response to Greer. For the entire length of the forty-minute ride to the airport, Dylan had lectured the hell out of him about keeping the relationship professional.
The intentional pivot Greer executed sent him to his fully loaded bar for a shot of anything to help digest all this defeat. He poured a good, hearty portion of tequila, tossed it back, and absorbed the burn, before looking down at his phone again.
This time, magically, the text messages were all marked read and the three little dots at the bottom of the screen were drumming their notice of Dallas’s pending message. Greer’s heart leapt—not past the sting of the alcohol, but still landed close to his throat. He was back in the game.
As quickly as he could, Greer tried for funny and typed, “I’m straight.”
Seconds later, the exact message came through to him from Dallas. He laughed out loud, instantly relieving the tension and negativity that had consumed this afternoon. He hoped Dallas laughed too.
“M Street Bar and Grill at 6:00. I understand you’re familiar with the place. It’s two miles from the gym. When I was on the hunt for Biker101, Marisol said the owner of BikeBro had been in for dinner. I know a secret menu that’ll appease any diet restrictions. Maybe Uber over, I want a celebratory drink for kicking your ass today. :) My driver can get you home whenever you’re ready to leave. Hands to myself.” Greer pushed send, ignoring the small little lies he’d texted. He read the words over again. Only one lie. He didn’t have a driver. He’d be the DD again tonight and take Dallas home himself.
Stop right there.
Don’t type another word.
He’d set the plan in motion and would not put another disparaging thought out into the world. Greer put his cell phone down, ignoring any other replies as he went for his office. He’d be at the grill on time. Until then, surely, he had enough unfinished business to keep him occupied for the next hour and a half.
=?=
The back door of the vehicle was barely shut before Dallas heard the wheels crackling over the gravel in the parking lot. He should have told the driver to hang on until he made up his mind. Now, he stood a few feet from the entrance, staring up at the M Street Bar and Grill neon sign, wondering why in the hell he had come. He shouldn’t have.
Greer planned to fund and organize the complete rebirth of his company. How could he not show? But his always grounded and reasonable side mocked him for even allowing himself to take things this far. This was all very personal for Dallas, making Greer more a frustration than anything else. But he also had to find a way to work with the force of nature sitting on the other side of this restaurant’s doors. They were partners after all.