The Billionaire Bad Boys Club (5 page)

Trey leaned forward now, lightly touching the gold-haired muscles of Zane’s forearm. “What did you want to tell me?”

For a couple seconds, Zane couldn’t remember. Trey’s expression was gentle, his eyes familiar and trustworthy. His lashes were thick and dark, his eyebrows heavy slashes above them. Those brows made him look more dangerous than he was—not unlike the masculine stubble he rarely shaved completely. Then again, maybe Trey’s gentleness was the danger, sucking a person in, letting him think he’d stick around forever. A tingle spread from the place Trey brushed with his fingertips, pleasant sensations sliding smoothly across his skin until his cock gave a good hard twitch.

If they’d been alone, he’d have French-kissed Trey, then fucked him like a sailor over the nearest chair.

“The portfolio?” Trey reminded. “You said it wasn’t work.”

“Oh, excuse me,” said a soft female voice. “If you’re not ready to order, I can come back.”

Trey glanced at the waitress before he did. Because Zane was looking at Trey, he witnessed the subtle shock that snapped through him.

“
Hel
lo,” Trey said, his eyes widening.

Zane jerked his gaze to the waitress too. She was on the small side; younger than they were, he thought—though he couldn’t be positive. Zane and Trey usually came off as older than their years. This girl had gamine cut blonde hair, big gray eyes, and a mouth so soft and pink it could have been candy. Her Wilde’s Bistro apron made it hard to tell, but he thought her rack was good.

“I’m Rebecca,” she said. “If you like, I can tell you the specials.”

“
Please
,” Trey said, like it was really important.

Zane looked at him sharply. His roommate’s voice had dropped lower than normal.

Rebecca rattled off the specials, then pushed her pencil eraser into her bottom lip. In spite of the situation, interest zinged along Zane’s nerves. She truly did have a stellar mouth. “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but you really shouldn’t order the lobster.”

“We shouldn’t,” Trey repeated.

The short waitress shook her head. “There was a screw up with our purveyor. All we’ve got today is frozen.”

Trey planted his elbow on the tablecloth and his chin in his hand. The position turned him toward Rebecca, silently declaring:
I’m all yours, sweetheart
. “Frozen lobster so close to Maine is blasphemy.”

Flustered by his attention, Rebecca pulled her order pad to her cushy chest. “The striped bass is good. And the duck breast, though it’s not on special. One of the senior line cooks makes it. He’s got a knack.”

Trey’s smile couldn’t have been more salacious if she’d been discussing sex. “You seem familiar with the kitchen.”

He must have been giving her his best smolder, because the girl’s breath hitched. “I cook on the line for lunch. I serve dinner because the tips are good.”

“People
are
more generous once they’ve survived a day at work.”

Trey wasn’t simply playing his fellow wait staff card, he was crooning at her. The girl began to flush, but stopped herself with a laugh. “Alcohol doesn’t hurt either.”

Trey smiled at her humor. For all the pair noticed, Zane could have been invisible. He’d watched his friend flirt before, but disappearing himself was a new experience.

“We’ll take the duck to share,” he cut in. “And the smoked cod tartine to start.”

“Oh.” The girl shifted her gaze to him, her smile faltering as she recalculated them being a couple. Recovering, she scribbled down what he’d said. “And you?” she asked Trey. “Would you like an appetizer?”

“The terrine of foie gras.” After all these years of fine dining, the French pronunciation rolled off his tongue. “We’ll get back to you on the wine.” His tone was soft, his penetrating green eyes reclaiming their intimate hold on hers. The girl’s soft mouth parted, as if she saw something in his consideration that perplexed her. For a couple seconds, the pair stared at each other.

“I’ll . . .” She cleared huskiness from her throat. “I’ll put your tickets in right away.”

As she spun jerkily and walked off, Zane struggled with his shame. “She was cute,” he observed, some part of him unable to leave dogs sleeping.

“She was,” Trey agreed, now perusing the wine list. His manicured index finger trailed as smoothly down the page as it could stroke an erection. He didn’t mention that Zane had effectively cock-blocked him.

That meant Zane really was obliged to act mature.

“You could probably get her number.”

Trey looked up and smiled. He seemed to know what had just happened—even if Zane preferred not to sort it out. “What’s in the portfolio?”

“Oh. It’s . . . a business proposal I wanted your feedback on it.”

The weird exchange with the cute waitress seemed to be over. Trey traded the wine list for Zane’s zippered leather case. He opened it, pulled out the stack of bound pages, and flipped through them. Though his movements were swift, Zane knew his friend was reading.

As he did, his expressive lips began curving. “You want to call your business The Bad Boys Club?”

“It conveys a feeling. Exclusive but still fun.”

“I agree.” Trey turned a few pages back and forth. “This is a big plan, Zane. A magazine. Luxury vacation properties.” His saturnine eyebrows quirked. “A fleet of fractional jets?”

“I want to create a brand. I wouldn’t try to do everything at once.”

Trey closed the neat report. “You’d start with the magazine.”

“Yes.” Zane was relieved he saw it the same way. “I know magazines are risky, but this one is designed to be ad heavy. We’d do articles on the coolest expensive watches or the best wines for impressing your girlfriend. So many people are insecure about spending money. Whether they have a lot or a little, they want to know they’re buying the right things. Of course there aren’t ‘wrong’ things, but they want someone to guide them. People who won a bet were always asking my opinion on how to celebrate. It was like they needed my approval.”

A grin slanted Trey’s mouth. “That’s because you’re the lucky stiff whose shoes they wished they could walk in.”

Zane didn’t take offense. He knew Trey’s teasing was meant fondly. “I want The Bad Boys Club to represent a lifestyle. Work hard. Play hard. Look good while you’re doing both. I was thinking . . .” He hesitated, because this pushed the edge of his comfort zone. “Every so often, we’d do a spread with skin appeal: the best nude beaches in Europe, the hottest soccer players with their shirts off. We’d draw in male and female readers. Everybody likes visuals.”

“You mean everybody likes eye candy.” Trey laughed, patting the tablecloth to either side of Zane’s report. “You’d totally have to be the first cover boy.”

“Me?” Zane jerked straighter. He hadn’t thought of this.

“Absolutely. You
are
the brand you’re talking about: the guy women want to bed and men want to hang out with. I can completely see you pulling this off. Like Oprah with testicles.”

Zane choked on the water he’d been sipping. “Thank you for that image.”

Trey leaned across the table to grip his hand, passion animating his eternally interesting face. “You can do this, Zane. This is so not beyond your capacity.”

“I want you to do it with me,” Zane admitted.

Trey’s jaw dropped, his eyes gone round. His throat moved like he was having trouble deciding how to respond. Abruptly nervous, Zane pulled his hand back from him.

“I know you’re excited about working in DC. You’ll probably be advising senators before the week is out. The thing is, you’ll have more fun if you stick with me.”

Trey sat back and blinked at him.

“Full partners,” Zane went on stubbornly. “You wouldn’t be working for me like you did on the bookmaking. We’d be an equal team.”

Trey’s green eyes welled up. “Well,” he said, blinking them again rapidly. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Think about it,” Zane said gruffly. “We don’t have to stop being partners just because we’re leaving school.”

“Right.” Laughing softly—possibly at himself—Trey picked up his napkin and pressed it to his face.

“Uh,” said the waitress, choosing then to come up. “Did you decide on the wine?”

Trey laughed harder and dropped the shield for his expression. “Rebecca,” he said, looking at her directly despite his emotion. “We’d love it if you’d bring us a bottle of the Les Belles Filles Burgundy.”

Zane reminded himself Trey usually remembered server’s names.

“That’ll complement what you ordered.” Rebecca sounded like she knew . . . and like her customers ought to care. Evidently, she had confidence in her taste. “Shall I bring the bottle with the main course?”

“Please,” Trey said. The pair traded smiles, not as flirtatious as before but like they approved of each other and were enjoying it.

Zane bit his tongue against interrupting their mutual admiration society. If Trey wanted to make time with this girl, that wasn’t his concern. Because of who they were sexually, they couldn’t supply each other with everything they craved. Given a choice, neither would give up women as bed partners.

“I’ll take care of it,” Rebecca said, tapping her pencil crisply against her pad.

Maybe consciously or maybe not, as she walked off, Trey turned to watch her butt twitch in her plain black trousers. When she’d disappeared past a couple tables, he returned his gaze to Zane.

“I’ll think about your offer. I expect you could use an answer soon.”

“Soon would be good,” Zane conceded, “but take the time you need.”

Privately, he’d expected—hoped?—Trey would jump at the opportunity. Did his delay mean he was searching for a way to refuse? Would Zane feel half as excited about his dream if his best friend weren’t living it with him?

Uncomfortable with his doubts, he squirmed like a five-year-old through dinner, which—despite being tasty—couldn’t hold his attention. Trey
mm
’ed and savored per usual. The waitress and he didn’t share any more moments. Zane couldn’t decide if he felt relieved or guilty.

Since Zane was paying, Trey left the tip. Zane believed in being generous, but the pair of hundred dollar bills Trey pulled from his wallet raised even his eyebrows.

“The service was good,” Trey said as he stood. “Plus, she seemed like she could use it.”

His gaze evaded Zane’s, not a reassuring development. Just how sparked by this girl was he?

“Okay,” Zane said, wondering if he should say more. In the end, he decided no comment was safer. They walked out onto the street where the sun had set and the temperature was cooling. The commercial area was popular. Shoppers and diners came and went. Zane paused on the sidewalk, squinting through the streetlights to see if he could spot stars. They were blurry, but he found a transparent three-quarter moon.

Please say yes
, he thought silently to his friend.

Trey stepped closer to him, the back of his hand brushing the back of Zane’s. Traffic rolled by, some of the cars recognizably driven by students. In a what-the-hell reaction, Zane wove their fingers together.

Trey bumped his shoulder companionably.

“I want to do it,” he said. “The thing is, I’m sure I haven’t saved as much money to invest as you.”

Zane’s heart jumped inside his chest. “Your brain is worth more than mine.”

“True,” Trey agreed.

Zane turned to him, wanting to kiss his sly smirk so badly he hurt.

“Careful,” Trey teased, the smile deepening. “You look like you’re on the verge of a PDA.”

Zane growled deep within his belly, beginning to tug Trey urgently toward their parking spot. He hadn’t realized he was getting hard while it happened, but now his cock pounded. Trey laughed, guessing exactly where the night was going.

Zane was so eager it took two tries to unlock the silver convertible.

“I can drive,” Trey offered, not hiding his amusement.

“I’m faster,” Zane refused.

Trey didn’t wait for Zane to get through the next intersection before he reached past the armrest and manhandled his erection.

“Crap.” Zane’s foot slipped off the gas pedal, causing the car to jerk. Because he was an excellent driver, he recovered without an accident. When Trey curled his fingers tighter and massaged, he was prepared for the knee-weakening wash of bliss.

“Just trying to help,” Trey purred, rippling his hold again. “You looked like you were having trouble . . . containing your excitement.”

“When we get home,” Zane warned, “I’m going to fuck you so hard your head will spin.”

This was no dissuader for his roommate. Trey squirmed closer on the seat, leaning toward Zane until his lips brushed his ear warmly. “Promise I won’t be able to walk straight?”

“Yes,” Zane confirmed through clenched teeth.

He drove carefully enough not to kill them. Trey’s hand never left his crotch—squeezing, kneading, dragging all ten fingernails over the hardened ridge. Only when Zane’s breath hissed inward did Trey’s technique gentle. He rubbed Zane’s erection gently with the heel of his palm. A quick check of Trey’s lap told Zane he was sporting a big hump too.

Sweat broke out on Zane’s forehead.

“I could suck you off while you’re driving,” Trey whispered in Zane’s ear. “I could just lean over and unzip you with my teeth.”

Zane’s hard-on throbbed as if a very pleasurable knife had stabbed it. They were two blocks from the old triplex in which they lived.

“If you make me shoot before we get behind closed doors, I’m fucking going to kill you.”

Trey was a master at knowing when to back off. Smiling like the Cheshire cat, he released Zane’s tormented dick and lounged against his door.

“I have my own surprise for you.” He slid one hand down the bulge in his smooth tan pants. His fingers were together, his palm absolutely flat. The ridge he pushed against barely budged.

“I’ve seen your prick before,” Zane said even as his mouth watered.

Trey rubbed his hand down and up again. “You haven’t seen my prick like it is tonight. Trust me, you’re going to beg to give me a blow job.”

Zane shuddered as Trey’s tongue swept around his lower lip. Dragging his attention back to the street, he gripped the steering wheel white-knuckled. Their neighborhood in Cambridge was residential, many of the old three-story houses providing rentals for students. Short on driveways, parallel parking was the norm. Miraculously, Zane got the Mercedes into its spot with one try.