The Square Peg (13 page)

requested high five, unable to keep the ridiculous grin off his face; he didn’t know why

she was glad he’d won, but he was grateful not to be celebrating alone. At least she

wasn’t one of Shane’s employees; she didn’t have to pretend to be sad Shane had lost.

“Sorry,” he said to Shane, because he was, a little bit.

Strangely, Shane was smiling at him. “You win some, you lose some, right?

Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” Ben collected his chips, automatically sorting them into colors to make

them easier to put away, and tucked the money they represented into his wallet.

“I’m not playing anymore if this is how it’s going to go,” Vin complained, but he

clapped Ben on the shoulder as he left to go back to work.

Shane was packing the cards and chips in a plastic storage container. “Rob made

up a list of a few things we have to go over before the weekend,” he said to Ben.

“Assuming you want to keep things on schedule.”

Since Ben was the one who was pushing to keep them on track, that was a pointed

comment. Still, he just nodded and followed Shane to the office.

Shane put the container in a cupboard with every shelf crammed full of odds and

ends, then sat sideways on the edge of the big desk, one foot on the floor, the other

swinging slowly. Ben took a flimsy plastic chair that put him much lower than Shane

and refused to let Shane’s choice of seat get to him. He wasn’t sure if it was deliberate or

if Shane just liked the informality of it. Though in a way, making the meeting casual

could be seen as an attempt by Shane to control it. He had to know Ben preferred

business to be conducted in a more formal setting.

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And maybe he was overanalyzing this too fucking much to distract himself from

the way Shane’s jeans were pulled tight over his thigh, and how Shane’s hand, resting

high on that thigh, drew attention to the sketched shape of his cock under the denim.

Shane turned, exposing the taut curve of his ass, and sifted through a pile of

papers on his desk. “Here,” he said, drawing out a single sheet and passing it to Ben.

“What do you think?”

Ben scanned the list, pushing his inappropriate thoughts aside. Yes, bending

Shane over that huge desk of his—of theirs—and fucking him would be the perfect

victory celebration, but with the bar still open and staff wandering around just outside

the office, it wasn’t going to happen. He was damned if he was going to be caught with

his pants down by Vin wanting a ride home. It would make breakfast together the next

day awkward as hell, for one thing.

Rob had suggested that to keep costs down, they did as much of the prep work as

possible. Given the amount of dust cutting into the walls would make, the bar would

need to be emptied of every glass and bottle, or huge sheets of plastic taped up.

“I say we move everything,” Ben said. “No matter what we do, the dust will get

in, and if we’re going to close down, it’s the perfect opportunity to clean the place.” He

tapped his finger against the paper. “We can store everything breakable in the staff

room and close it off. Given how much alcohol will be in there, lock it. The tables and

chairs need replacing anyway. We can donate them to charity if anyone will take them.

The pool table, hmm…”

“Slow down.” Shane looked annoyed. “You’re so fucking eager to gut the place,

aren’t you?”

“I just think it makes sense to do it all at once. If we do some now and put off the

rest of it, it’s going to mean more days when we need to close the place in the future,

and I thought we were focusing on making sure no one lost any more work hours than

they had to.” Ben looked at the page with Rob’s sketches. “He said we can do the

painting ourselves to save money?”

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“Yeah. Figure even you can hold a paintbrush.” Shane gestured for Ben to hand

the papers back to him, but Ben pretended not to see.

“I’m sure I can handle it.” To be fair, Ben probably hadn’t painted anything since a

watercolor in grade school, but how hard could it be? He wasn’t freakishly

uncoordinated or anything. “Do we have to buy the paint, or is he going to do it?”

“Said I’d take care of it,” Shane told him. “Give me those, would you?”

“I’m still looking at them. What color?”

“White? There’s a reason it’s a classic.”

“There are probably studies on which colors make people spend more money. I’ll

do some research. Don’t buy anything until I get back to you on that.” There was no

reason not to take advantage of information collected by other people, after all.

“They’re my fucking walls. I get to stare at them all day. I get to choose what goes

on them.”

“They’re our walls,” Ben corrected him, “and white will show every mark and

need repainting before the year’s over. Maybe a neutral shade, a light taupe…but as I

said, there’s no harm in looking at the research.”

“‘Taupe’?” Shane made it sound as disgusting a choice as using shit to paint with.

Ben stiffened, ready to do battle, even though it’d been just a random choice and not

one he was wedded to. He liked the idea of a rich, dark red in places, something to

make the bar feel welcoming, warm. Not on every wall, maybe, or it would be too dark.

Shane gave a scornful snicker, jolting him out of his musings. “You mean beige. Boring,

safe beige. Thought you were sick of safe, Benedict. Thought you wanted a walk on the

wild side.” He reached out with his foot as he said it, kicking Ben’s shoe with his boot,

not hard, but dismissively enough that Ben shot to his feet.

“Don’t make the color of the walls mean something when it doesn’t. And keep

your feet to yourself.”

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Shane stayed where he was, but his relaxed sprawl against the desk had become a

frozen pose, like a runner poised to spring into action. He stared up at Ben, his

expression hostile.

“You don’t want me touching you? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I don’t want you touching me like that.” Ben leaned forward and braced one

hand on the desk next to Shane’s thigh, looming over him. “You’re the one that likes it,

aren’t you? Not that you want to admit it.” He wasn’t sure where this thread of

knowledge was coming from, but it had basically been a rhetorical question—they both

knew the answer.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Shane’s voice was low and husky.

“No? I’m pretty sure I do.” Shifting his right hand close enough that his wrist

touched Shane’s leg, Ben smiled. It probably wasn’t a nice smile.

“Then you’d be wrong.”

“Hmm.” Ben leaned in closer. “I don’t think so. I remember the other night. What

you liked. I find it hard to believe you changed this fast.” He could feel the heat coming

off Shane, the scent of him, hops and citrus.

“I’m not part of your winnings,” Shane said, his chin tilted arrogantly. If Ben

hadn’t been able to feel the answering pressure against his wrist as Shane’s leg moved,

just an inch, he might have thought Shane wasn’t interested in anything but a fight.

“Back off.”

Of course, given the way that shift of position opened Shane up to his view so

perfectly, showcasing the muscular body, the captured, eager heat of the man, maybe

not.

For the second time, Ben felt a sizzle of lust ignite every tinder-dry fantasy he had.

That Shane could do this to him, reducing Ben from a clear-thinking, calm, and rational

human being to a man with only one focus, was terrifying and exasperating.

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He would care about that later, he supposed, after lying in his bed, replaying

every feverish moment, his hands locked around his cock and balls, drawing an echo of

pleasure from the memories. Right then, he only cared about making Shane’s power to

arouse him a two-edged sword.

“If I walk out now, you wouldn’t get what you want.” He moved his hand until it

lay across Shane’s thigh, his fingers spread. Slowly, never looking away from Shane’s

eyes, he drew his hand along Shane’s thigh and up, over a flat, hard stomach and chest.

He paused to thumb Shane’s nipple until it hardened obediently, then wrapped his

hand around Shane’s throat, lightly, possessively.

Shane let him do it. When they were like this, Ben thought Shane would let him do

anything. And he was back to being scared and exhilarated.

Shane swallowed, the ridges of his throat pressing against Ben’s palm, his Adam’s

apple rising, falling. Ben didn’t want to scare Shane, if that was even possible when all

Shane had to do to break free was lean backward. But he liked the fantasy that he was

controlling Shane’s breathing, that every exhalation, every inward gasp was his gift.

God, he was out of his depth here. He remembered being in a boat once, maybe a

mile off shore, fishing with a friend, Darren, and Darren’s father. The fish hadn’t been

biting in the hot noon sun, and Darren and he had stripped down to their swim shorts

and dived off the boat to cool off. They were strong, confident swimmers, and the ocean

was calm, but Ben had suddenly realized just how much water lay beneath him. He’d

kicked his legs, frantic, scared by the immensity surrounding him, then touched the

side of the boat with his hand.

Sanctuary was there if he wanted it, but angry at his fear, he’d swum out, away

from the boat, just to prove he could. And out there, he felt the ocean cradle him, cold,

exciting water, salt against his lips, stinging his eyes.

No swim had ever matched that one. He dreamed of it sometimes.

“You want me to go?” he said and leaned in closer so Shane didn’t have to do

more than whisper his no.

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Shane inhaled, shaky. The look in his eyes was wild, untamed, as if he was feeling

the same exhilaration that Ben was, the high of it providing a rush like no other. “No,”

he whispered, but a knock at the door frame and the sudden appearance of Shelly

shattered the spell.

“Hey, we’re losing pressure on the soda machine again.” She stopped and looked

from Shane, sitting on the desk, to Ben, standing in front of him. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” Shane blustered. He stood, giving Ben no choice

but to step backward quickly. “I’ll be right there to take a look at it.”

“Cool. Thanks.” Shelly hesitated in the doorway for a moment as if she was

thinking of saying something else, but decided against it and left. Bright girl, Ben

thought. Either that, or being around Shane had taught her well.

Fuck knew what it was teaching him.

“Got to go take care of this,” Shane said. He was standing close, but they weren’t

touching.

“Yeah, I know.” Ben wasn’t sure what he was feeling—disappointment whatever

had been happening was interrupted? Relief? But when Shane left the room, the night

was over, he knew that. He didn’t feel right leaving it like this, without a specific plan.

Shane was still standing there, seemingly reluctant to leave. That was reassuring.

“You could come up to mine?”

Even more reassuring, but he had a stack of accounts a foot high to deal with at

home. “You have no idea how good that sounds. I can’t. Work stuff. The other work, I

mean.”

“You and me.” Shane scrunched his face up, his exasperation with his lack of

eloquence clear. “What the fuck’s going on?”

“I wish I knew.” Ben appreciated Shane’s refusal to pretend nothing had

happened, but he was at a loss. “I’m not like this with anyone else.” He rolled his

shoulders, feeling the tension cramping his muscles. They hadn’t felt like this when

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he’d been leaning over Shane. He’d felt warm, alive, his body humming with a

delicious anticipation. “It’s freaking me out. I mean, I want it. Want you, but I don’t

know what this is. And it’s really not a good idea for us to—”

“Fuck like bunnies?” Shane waved dismissively. “Forget it. It’s not you; it’s me.

I’m irresistible. I get this all the time. Have to beat men off with a stick most nights.”

The words were lighthearted, but his expression was bleak, weary.

Ben chewed the inside of his cheek, a bad habit of his that his dentist gave him hell

about. “I can’t forget it, but maybe we can concentrate on work.”

“Do you ever forget it?” Shane snapped, then sighed before Ben had time to snap

back. “Sorry. I can’t fault you for working hard, I suppose.”

Ben’s phone beeped. With an apologetic look at Shane, too much its slave to

ignore it, and partially grateful for the interruption, he dug it out of his pocket and

checked the text.

“Oh, that’s great!” He showed the text to Shane, who squinted at the phone, then

gave him a questioning look. “It’s from Ade. The one who owned a restaurant,