He closed his eyes, bringing forth images of Beckett sitting alone at his table, rarely speaking to anyone. Under Ricco’s intense scrutiny, Julian’s cock deflated. That meant he was practically sober, yet his cock was working again for the first time in a long while. Julian had only had two cocktails over the last couple of hours.

He paid the bartender no heed, not wanting to lose this moment. “Boss, you good?” Ricco tapped the edge of the bar to gain Julian’s attention. Should he have been drinking this whole time? How much had he had to drink? Regardless of his actions over the last few days, Julian had given up alcohol. Tears of happiness sprung to his eyes, making him fight to swallow the lump forming in his throat. How long had it been since he’d grown hard? He couldn’t remember. Holy hell, the way it plumped painfully against his zipper had his heart thumping wildly in his chest. He knew that for a fact because he’d rubbed himself against all that masculinity when they’d danced.Īn unexpected sensation had Julian dropping the fork in his hand to the plate, his gaze lowering to his trouser-covered cock. Beckett was all man, every single inch of him. Those intriguing brown eyes and that appealing gaze. No, Julian hadn’t missed all the long lingering looks Beckett tossed his way. Beckett had become a welcome patron in the club and his table a safe place for most of the guys who worked for Reservations to gather. Julian had watched as Beckett sat alone for hours at his table until some of the waiters were cut from their shifts and ended up joining the guy. He chomped out his frustration that the big, tall cowboy hat wearing mystery man was building some possible hookups.

Julian dug into the salad with his fork, stuffing a big bite into his mouth, and reached for the untouched glass of water nearby. “We’re holding the table for him, but he’s late.” So, the Marlboro Man had built a fan club involving more than just the club’s waiters and bartenders. “The older one,” Remington repeated, then turned with his tray full of drinks in his hand.

All the men looked older, sophisticated, well put together, and handsome. “Who wants to know?” Julian looked over to Remington’s section of tables as if a large red arrow would point him out. Have we heard from thirty-four? Is he coming in tonight?” Remington, another waiter, asked from about the midway point down the bar where he loaded his tray with cocktail glasses. Get some barstools from the back, and let’s see if he arrives.” Julian looked over to see a crowd of men gathered around the larger high-boy table. “I’m being asked if table thirty-three can incorporate thirty-four into their party.”

It's Complicated by Kindle Alexander