It's Complicated: A Reservations Story

Where was he? Why was it so hard to breathe?

“Julian.”

Woofer’s heavy bark echoed in the background and the world swirled back into place. Julian staggered under the weight of what had just happened but managed to stay on his feet.

“Dude, are you all right?”

“Do I look all right?”

“You look green.”

Not now. This couldn’t be happening now. Julian had turned into a fucking headcase. Woofer’s big noggin knocked into Julian’s thigh, urging him toward the break room. Ricco took his arm and guided him to one of the chairs in the small space.

“Let me go get you some water and a wet rag.”

Julian grabbed Ricco’s arm. His grip was weak, but enough to stop Ricco from leaving. “No one needs to know about this.”

Ricco shook his head in disagreement. “I don’t know, boss. That was some weird shit you just did.” Woofer’s head came to Julian’s lap as if he agreed with Ricco. His dog made a whining sound, his eyes focused on Julian’s face. “Dude, you should probably go home. You look like hell. I should call Thane.”

Julian tossed his head back, letting the chair’s comforting squeak and plush cushions surround him with familiarity. Something he desperately needed right now.

His limbs were heavy and his mind still foggy from the memories that blindsided him. His hand went to Woofer’s head when the dog whined again.

“Let’s start with a glass of cold water. Then we’ll see what happens before we freak out all my babysitters.”

Chapter 7

Beckett finally understood the power of a well-cut suit.

He strode through the front doors of the grill Thane owned, past the line forming at the hostess stand, making his way to the bar. He felt like a million bucks. Maybe the new stylish haircut, with a few well-placed honey-colored highlights helped boost his confidence and build his resolve.

He hadn’t chosen to wear the cowboy hat tonight. Hadn’t even brought it with him to have something to do with his hands.

He’d left something else inside his suite, too: patience. He refused to take any shit from Thane Walker tonight.

Beckett’s spine went ramrod straight when he thought about the arrogance of the man he was about to meet. Thane had had it out for him since day one. Even though he’d never so much as sneezed in the man’s direction. Tonight, he was determined to find out exactly why Thane disliked him so much.

At thirty-three years old, Beckett had lost hope that he’d ever find his missing piece. He didn’t know if Julian was the one, but he knew he’d never been this interested in anyone before. Whoever got in his way could kiss his ass. That included Thane Walker.

Images of taking Thane into the mountains and leaving his ass there tugged a smile from Beckett’s lips as he looked around the restaurant. He liked that idea more than he cared to admit.

“Excuse me, sir. There’s a wait for the bar. The lines that way.” A fresh-faced young woman informed him.

“I’m meeting someone here,” he started to explain, but she cut him off before he could say who.

“Parties aren’t seated until everyone arrives,” she said, pointing toward the front door. The direction she wanted him to go. “Our waiting overflow area is just outside the doors to the right.”

“I’ve got him.” Thane materialized out of nowhere, sticking out a hand to Beckett.

Thane the Difficult grinned ear to ear. His normal, super well-kept appearance had a tousled air about it this evening. He looked more relaxed than maybe Beckett had ever seen him before, at least when Beckett was in his vicinity.

“We’re over here.”

He could easily see over Thane’s shoulder when he hitched a thumb that way. He expected to see Levi somewhere in the crowded, loud restaurant but didn’t.

“I’ve invited Arik Layne to join us,” Thane explained. The volume of the casual restaurant drowned out anything more he might have said as he turned away. Beckett had no choice but to follow.

He wound his way through the tables and chairs to the farthest corner of the restaurant. A waitress dressed in blue jeans and a restaurant logoed T-shirt placed many plates of different appetizers in front of a nice-looking blond guy who tilted a cocktail glass up to drain the contents.

“Arik Layne meet Beckett St. Clair.”

Arik extended a hand across the table while using the other to hand the waitress his glass. Thane slid into the booth first. Beckett was thankful for that. He didn’t want to be caged in between these two men.

“Would you like another?” the waitress asked.

“Absolutely.” Arik’s handshake was firm and friendly. When she took his empty glass, Arik pointed toward Beckett. “Hook him up. He has some catching up to do. And it’s Thane’s treat.”

“Pfft.” Thane grunted. “Arik doesn’t believe in moderation, so he spends three hours a night working out to burn off his meals.”