Chapter Sixteen

Gage

" F uck, these tables are heavy. Where do you want it?"

Placing the whiskey bottle on the shelf, I turn to see Max huffing and puffing where he'd brought in one of the new dark wood tables.

"Anywhere works. I'll organize them later."

Using his shirt, he wipes away a sheen of sweat. "You wanna help me out? I can't do it all alone, ya know?"

"Nah, I'm not about to mess up these pretty fingers." Giving them a little wiggle toward him, I smirk.

"Get your ass outside now or I'm going home to Jax."

Riling him up is so fun. "Alright, calm down! Don't get your panties in a bunch!"

I get an obligatory eye roll, so I give him a cheesy smile.

We exit through the back of the newly cleaned kitchen; Bert will start back in there next week, making his chowder again. We head toward the spot where the tables and chairs were dropped off earlier today. Much of my morning was spent stocking the shelves and ensuring they're ready for customers. The sight of the new bottles arranged in a row is quite something.

"So, tomorrow's the big day. Are you feeling excited about it?" Max says, stopping next to a table.

"I'm scared shitless, to be honest. Can you believe it's been a month already since the work started? And now we're almost done."

"Yeah, it went by quickly. Do you know when the town council association is sending their appraiser by?"

"Eight a.m. tomorrow. Man, I hope we've done enough." Taking the band off my wrist, I use it to put my hair up.

God, I hope it'll be enough. I don't want to repeat the experience of letting everyone down. The local newspaper ran an advertisement for the grand reopening, so we're keeping our fingers crossed for a successful turnout. But I'm anxious about looking foolish in front of the townsfolk if I have to cancel because we didn't receive the required sign-off.

"If they don't sing your praises for all this work you've done, I think even I'll have to step in and say something on your behalf. This place is beautiful. They'd be hard-pressed to find anything wrong with it."

Trust Max to always have my back, but damn, it's so nice to hear him praising me. He's not wrong, though. The bar is stunning. It surpassed anything I could've ever imagined.

"Appreciate it, man." I pat him on the back.

We both take a side and lift the table up, going through the kitchen, and into the bar. Our muscles are strained with the effort, but by working together, we've made it feel a bit lighter. Placing it down next to the one Max has already brought in, we head back out for the next one. We do this till they are all inside before making a start on the chairs, stacking them off to one side.

"How are things going with Ash? Is he getting sick of you yet?"

"Ha, he'll never grow tired of this," I comment while smoothing my hand down my shirt. My finger touches something wet. "Oh shit, is that a cornflake? How did I miss my mouth?" Whatever. I don't wanna waste anything, so I casually toss it in my mouth.

"You're something else. Did you really just eat soggy cereal off your shirt? Dude, you're so gross."

"You're just salty ‘cause you missed out on a mid-morning shirt snack."

Max shakes his head. "You didn't answer my question. How's the whole living situation?"

Living with someone you want to shove up against a wall every five minutes because your horny dick has decided Ash is some kind of god and must have him is hard work. The restraint I've shown is real.

"Yeah, it's great."

"‘ Great ?' Is that all? I'm surprised you ain't got him mounted to your dick!"

Give me time!

"Look, truth be told, I like him more than just a houseguest, if you catch my drift. But I think he's straight. I've been making him watch The Gay Bachelor with me to see if he has any response to the guys, but he's as cool as a cucumber. Meanwhile, I'm doing my best not to hump him right there on the sofa! If there's a gentleman award, I should get one."

Max smirks and says, "Why don't you just ask him if he's straight?"

"I find pleasure in torturing myself," I say with a smile.

"No, you don't. What's really going on? Remember, no keeping secrets."

"Yeah, yeah. I remember," I sigh.

"This isn't like you. I haven't heard you talk about any hookups recently. Where's the cocky Gage who thinks the sun shines out of his own ass? There's definitely something different going on with you."

Oh, it's different alright. My damn heartbeat becomes the loudest sound in the room whenever Ash is around.

With a groan, I shift my attention to Max. "You'll probably think I'm an idiot."

"I've thought that for years, so nothing you say will change my opinion," he jokes, giving me a playful nudge. "Come on, spill."

"I like him, okay?" Words tumble out of my mouth, unfiltered and unrestrained. "Like, really like him. I like the sound of his voice, how he wears his hair, the way he walks, and his cute smile. I could go on! He's all I think about these days. My hand has never had so much action! As for hookups, the thought of them turns me off." Jesus. Never thought I'd say that out loud.

"Damn! I knew something was up. You're really into him, huh?"

More than you know. "My whole body does some crazy tingling shit when he's around. Do you get that with Jaxon?"

The mention of his name brings a huge grin to his face. "Yeah man, I get that too."

"Ugh, he smells so good, too. The way his hand felt in mine last week, his pretty green eyes, the cute way he stands with his hands in his pockets, and the way he teases me. Everything he does is such a turn-on."

"Yeah, you're fucked. Can't believe someone finally broke you." Max shakes his head in disbelief, laughing.

"Believe it, buddy."

"Well... what are you gonna do about it?" he challenges, crossing his arms.

"Nothin'."

" Nothing ?" he hollers, his voice loud and echoing across the empty bar.

"What am I supposed to do?" Tying him to a chair is a no-no. "He's straight and doesn't show any signs of liking me other than as his landlord-slash-roommate. I've turned on the full Gage charm, like Gage, two–point–oh, but nothing. No reaction. It's starting to give me a complex. Fuck, maybe he did break me."

"Giving up so easily? What's gotten into you?"

"Ash has gotten into me, that's what. He's cast some love spell on me, made me go all stupid."

"Man, I hate to break it to ya, but yo—"

"Don't finish that sentence, you dick. Help me," I whine instead.

"Okay, here's what you're gonna do. You're gonna tidy up the beard, have a shower, sort out that mop on your head, pick out your best shirt and jeans, then you're gonna shake them tail feathers like it's 1999, or whatever the saying is. Not only is tomorrow your fortieth and his twenty-first, but it's the motherfucking grand reopening of this place." His arms open wide as he turns side to side.

Who would've thought that I'd be taking dating advice from Max? It seems like I'm becoming an adult, after all.

"What happens if it doesn't work?" I'll be a sad old man with a shriveled prune dick and a broken jerk-off wrist!

"Well, at least you can say you gave it a shot. And hey, you'll have a good time at the party, regardless. Who knows? If it doesn't work out, you might even find someone else to go home with."

My nose scrunches up when I think about the last part. It seems my hook-up days are on hold until I find out if Ash is interested.

"How about this? I'll be your wingman, or ‘ featherman ,' and keep an eye on Ash's reactions to you. If I see anything noteworthy, I'll let you know."

That's not a bad idea, actually. I knew being friends with Max would come in handy eventually. "Yeah, fine. What's the worst that can happen, right?" It's worth taking the risk for a chance at something great.

"Exactly," he says, patting me on the shoulders. "Right, c'mon, let's get this bar restocked with liquor. I have my own man at home who's fretting about tomorrow, and I need to get back to him."

Between us, we create a production line where bottles are passed over and placed in their proper places.

"What's this?" Max asks, hand outstretched to me.

He hands me the fifty-dollar bill Ash gave me. I never used it, and I intended to give it back to him a few days ago. I left it under a liquor bottle, coincidentally the same shade of green as his eyes. Clearly, I became preoccupied and forgot to give it back. The way he handed it to me that day, with a warm smile and a gentle touch, was such a heartwarming gesture. Will he take offense if I offer it back to him? I need to do something with it, but I'm not sure what. Suddenly, an idea springs to mind.

"Think you can make me a nice, fancy frame?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Sweet. I got an idea—I have them sometimes, ya know."

"If you say so," he says, sarcastically skeptical.

"I do. Now pass me another bottle. We got work to do."