Secrets and High Spirits: Secrets, Book 4 (4 page)

“What’s that?” Teag asked, pointing but, regrettably, not touching.

“A skulltapus,” Bruce explained the tentacled skull. He rotated his arm to give a full view of the twisting appendages. A few moments later, as Teag seemed satisfied, Bruce switched arms. His left one featured another scene above and under the water, but this starred a mermaid atop and sea life below, ending with a starfish at his wrist.

Again, Teag studied the ink in detail, then leaned back in his chair, though apparently not yet satisfied. “What about the rest?”

“That was all.”

“Really?” Teag asked in a tone weighed down with doubt.

So Bruce stood, pulled the shirt up on his chest as far as it went without actually taking it off. He watched like a hawk as Teag’s gaze swept over his unadorned abdomen and chest, snagging on the silver stud pierced through his left nipple. He didn’t miss Teag’s Adam’s apple bobbing in an unconscious swallow, but didn’t linger. He pivoted to display his equally blank back. “I can drop trou if you wish.”

Teag swallowed again. “No. I believe you.” He nodded at Bruce’s arm. “Why?”

“You can’t call yourself a pirate without a few tats,” Bruce explained with deliberate obliqueness. He couldn’t resist the urge to tease Teag, to draw the guy in deeper.

Teag raised one incredulous brow. “And you’re a pirate?”

“For six weekends in the summer. A group of us do Renaissance Faire in Irwindale every year in the summer,” he amended quickly, not wishing to stretch Teag’s patience too far.

“You do Ren Faire?” Teag’s incredulity seemed to have reached epic proportions. “But what do you actually do there?”

“Oh, all sorts of stuff, mock-fighting, juggling, flirting with the wenches, and helping out at my friend Ella’s pickle stand.”

Teag sputtered. “A pickle stand?”

“Yeah. You know what they say, a pickle a day keeps the scurvy away.”

“And you do this for six weeks?”

“Sure. It’s great fun. Have you ever been?” Bruce asked jovially.

Teag shook his head, and for about a minute, he stared at Bruce as if the latter had grown a second one.

Bruce looked back as unthreateningly as he could muster, though the electricity filling the air since they entered the tiny office was still there, making his skin tingle and hair stand up on his arm.

Teag closed his eyes and bowed his head, as if working himself up to action. At last, he pulled himself straight, squared his shoulders, looked Bruce straight in the eyes and slashed the silence. “I changed my mind. About starting a bar together. If you’re still interested.” The words rushed out in a panicked stampede. The tension behind Teag’s determination was palpable.

“I am,” Bruce replied with all the calm he didn’t feel. “Go on.”

Teag’s resolve returned. “The offer’s tentative—since I don’t really know you, I’ll have to run a full background check on you. You understand?”

“I do.”

Teag hesitated for a moment as if a thought had just occurred to him. “You should do the same, of course. I’ll give you my details.”

“Okay.”

“I have a few conditions, and there’s no deal unless we can agree on them.”

“All right. Let’s hear them.”

“This is purely a
professional
relationship.”

Bruce nodded. “As you wish.” He would’ve liked to bring up the zing in the air between them—he couldn’t have been the only one to feel it—but kept his mouth shut. He was a big boy, could keep his libido in check where it was unwanted. And there was always a chance Teag would change his mind. There was now a precedent.

Teag blinked, perhaps expecting resistance, then went on, now much freer. “I’ll have a lawyer draw up the papers regarding the partnership. You should, of course, hire your own.”

“Okay.”

“We can discuss details, but certain things are nonnegotiable.”

“I’m all ears.”

“I get final decision on every detail of the refurbishing. I want a low-key, classy place. No TV screens, no pop music blaring so loud you can’t hear your own thoughts. And we serve nothing but well-crafted drinks in the spirit of pre-Prohibition standards and practices.”

Not at all what Bruce expected, based on what he’d seen of Teag so far, but he only nodded without a comment.

Teag plowed on. “This will be a place where people can come in with friends, have a good time while drinking a real Manhattan or whiskey sour.” He talked with a clarity of purpose now, no hesitation, no doubt. Passion shone through his words. He was beautiful. “I have very clear ideas about what atmosphere I want, and it’s not a noisy sports bar or a tourist trap with watered-down drinks and pitchers of margaritas. It’s a deal-breaker for me.”

“A classy joint,” Bruce surmised.

“Classy but not stuffy,” Teag said defensively.

The contrast between Teag’s ideals and current employment was striking. But Bruce sensed Teag’s sensitivity on the subject, so he proceeded with tact. “Okay. Why don’t you tell me more about it? I have an idea: describe it as if you were a customer entering for the first time.”

The ready-to-fight aura surrounding Teag lifted some. He stared into nothing with a frown of concentration before turning his gaze back to Bruce. “You’re on the street, the sun’s blazing hot, cars are rushing by noisily and belching fumes. Everyone’s in a hurry, stressed and tense. Then you step through the door into another world—no heat and noise or hurry. You sit on a stool, and the man behind the bar hands you a cool glass. You sip, and your mind and body unclench. You found the secret garden. Of course, not a garden.”

“A hidden watering hole in the desert.”

“Yes, exactly.” Teag blinked, his not-so-hidden hostility almost completely gone.

“Sounds good to me,” Bruce replied, but he had to clear up practical matters. “What if they order something modern, like appletinis?”

Teag nodded as if he’d expected the question. “I thought of it. We mix them in the spirit of the classics. Nothing cloyingly sweet. Make it with real apple juice, not Apple Pucker.” His eyes darkened with wrath. “But no fucking vodka and Red Bull. Ever. I’d sooner serve wine coolers.”

“No Red Bull. Gotcha. Vodka is okay, though, right?”

Teag waved dismissively. “Yeah, sure. We’ll use only quality ingredients for everything. I’ve already identified suppliers for some of the more obscure liquors and other supplies.”

“Food?” Bruce interjected.

“Yes. I’m thinking simple but quality. There’s a kitchen, right?”

“Yes. Small but workable. We’ll need the right kind of appliances.”

Teag considered this. “You can start looking into appliances, if you want, while I find an inspector to check out the building for structural stuff.” He paused. “You mentioned you’ve been running this place.”

“Yes. Have been for five or six years now. The owner doesn’t do much beyond signing or cashing checks.”

“Good. I, uhm, have little experience in this area. We should be able to divide up the responsibilities equably.”

“You’re the art director, and I’m the stage manager.” Bruce had no idea why this analogy came to his mind—he hadn’t done theatre since high school.

Teag seemed perplexed too for a second. “I… Yes, something like that.”

“You have spent considerable thought on this, haven’t you?”

“Of course. Haven’t you?”

“Not like this. Don’t worry, you can be the boss, I’ll be your faithful minion.” Bruce was happy to see a flicker of amusement on Teag’s face. “I have my own condition.”

“Oh?” Teag’s expression stiffened warily.

“I must have six consecutive weekends in the summer free.”

“For Ren Faire?”

“You got it. It’s a deal-breaker,” Bruce said echoing Teag’s earlier words, only half joking.

Teag relaxed and almost smiled. “I accept—I’ll make sure it’s in the contract.”

Bruce stood and held out his hand. “It’s a deal, then… Boss.” The last word floated on the surface like Bacardi in a B-52 shot, but just as combustible. As they shook hands, their eyes locked. There was definitely a spark.

Teag had no idea how he’d managed to drive his Vespa home without killing himself. Thank God for the nearly empty night streets past Hollywood. His head swam with a bewildering blend of thoughts and emotions. He’d thought when he settled to make his offer to Bruce that meeting the man would clear his conflicting feelings, but the result was quite the contrary.

He’d arrived anticipating a battle but had found a welcome party instead. Okay, so Bruce had made the first offer and Teag should’ve expected a spirit of cooperation, but still, it was too easy. And that bit about Ren Faire—so nerdy, so out of step with the image of Bruce he’d painted in his mind.

But the most unsettling moment came as Bruce had called him “boss”. Not so much the word, or even the drop of Bruce’s voice, but the posture. The big, powerful man in front of him, head bowed—it had done funny things to his insides.

Even now, alone in the darkness of his room, all he could think of was what it would be like to succumb to his deepest urges and truly show the man who the boss was. It would be wrong for so many reasons, not the least because getting involved with a business partner was a recipe for disaster. Yet he couldn’t stop his thoughts or even turn them in a different direction. He pushed his hand into his shorts and took his painfully hard cock into his hand.

Despite everyone’s willingness, it took almost two months to get to the point where they could actually say they owned the building and could get started on the renovation. The intervening time was spent with building inspectors, lawyers, real estate agents, making plans, applying for permissions. Lots of paperwork.

Teag had to meet Bruce several times, but he always made sure it happened at public places and they weren’t alone. If it wasn’t Ella, the inspector or Uncle Fester, then his sister.

Helen and Bruce got along annoyingly well. She adored his tattoos and, unlike Teag, fondled them all over. “Why not on your chest?” she asked with all the brazenness Teag hadn’t allowed himself, on the one occasion when they were supposed to be making decisions regarding bar furnishings.

“Too hairy,” Bruce confessed merrily, not the least offended. “What’s the point of having a piece of expensive art on your body if nobody can see it for the fur? And chest shaving is not my thing.”

“Teag waxes his,” Helen quipped, oblivious to Teag’s mortification. “But he doesn’t have much to begin with.”

“Can we please get back to business?” Teag growled.

They did for a while, but eventually, the conversation strayed back to body art. Helen had tons of questions. Teag silently wished he’d brought Uncle Fester with him instead. At long last, they hammered out an agreement, and they parted ways.

“Are you sure there isn’t something between you two?” Helen asked Teag as soon as they were alone in her car. “I could’ve sworn I felt something.”

“You’re wrong,” Teag hurried to put her straight.

“It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world,” Helen persisted.

“It quite possibly would. Can you imagine if Charlie and I were in business together?”

She puffed up her cheeks. “Charlie was a special case. I never liked him.”

“The point is, no relationship lasts. You know how the saying goes: Don’t shit where you eat.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Gross. Can’t you come up with a less revolting image?”

“Fine. Don’t bone your business partner, because when the honeymoon is over, the mess will bite you in the ass.” It didn’t have quite the same ring.

“Of course you won’t have a lasting relationship with that attitude. I wonder if you were subconsciously self-sabotaging when you took up with Charlie.” She had her know-it-all expression on, the one he’d found so insufferable when they’d been kids. “I bet you’re against Bruce because he’s not like Charlie. God forbid you find a guy you can be happy with.”

“I thought you were a nurse, not a psychologist,” Teag jibed.

“Don’t be a smart-ass. You know I’m right. You’re too afraid to get involved with someone who might work out.”

“Like Mom and Dad worked out?”

“They lasted for twenty years. That’s not too shabby.”

“How about you? How many boyfriends have you had?”

“Hey, don’t you be slut-shaming me, little bro. I’m still looking. Some of us have to kiss a lot of frogs before we find our prince, and might as well have fun while doing it.” At the next red light, she turned to him and said sweetly, “How about we invite Bruce over for dinner?”

“No.”

“You know, sometimes I just want to grab something bumpy and hit you on the head with it. Repeatedly.” The light changed to green, and the car’s tires squealed as she jammed her foot on the gas.

“Duly noted. Now, I’d like to go through this checklist, if you don’t mind.” He waved the notepad in his hand.

She sighed the sigh of a martyr but drove on in silence while Teag immersed himself in his notes. Bruce apparently had a lot of useful friends, among them a general contractor who’d helped them draw up the plans and gave advice, although Bruce and Teag decided to do most of the unskilled labor themselves. Bruce had recruited a couple of his brawnier Ren Faire buddies to help with the demolition.

One of the guys Bruce liked playing dress-up with turned out to be a licensed electrician, who agreed to do the wiring at a friendly rate.

On Teag’s side, Dylan, Olly and even Olly’s friend Jem offered their help. Not quite in the same league as Bruce’s recruits, but Teag appreciated the gesture. He figured they could employ the trio for the fiddlier jobs, like scraping layers of old paint from the upstairs window frames. Several of those had been painted shut.

In addition, Olly’s boyfriend, Rich, was building their bar out of hard maple. Teag hoped to hell their relationship lasted till the work was done. So far they seemed nauseatingly happy.

“What about the kitchen appliances?” Helen broke the peaceful silence.

“Bruce is taking care of it.” Teag had to admit, Bruce had proven more than capable at handling all those tiresome and boring details Teag hadn’t had the time or patience for. Being unemployed at the moment, Bruce had time too.

“Such a reliable man.”