She took the ticket from Matt, inspecting the plates herself. “All you need is toast on these.”
Alex lifted his head and gave her a look of furious incredulity. Then he grabbed two more pieces of burned toast off the conveyer belt and tossed them on one of the plates before he turned back to the flattop without another word. Matt couldn’t help it, he laughed as he stared at that ruined toast on the plate. Then he met Melissa’s eyes across the deck. She clearly didn’t think it was as funny as he did.
“Why don’t you just take these and tell them the toast is coming up in a minute,” Matt suggested to break the tension. He grabbed the toast off the plate and threw it away before he turned back to the toaster. “I’ll get it working.”
Melissa gave him a look of disbelief before she turned to the fridge behind her and pulled out a carton of orange juice. “You know, Alex, this container’s feeling awful warm.”
“Fuck!”
Alex threw down the spatula and walked around the large silver counter that cut the kitchen in half and separated the cooks from the waitresses. He pulled open the industrial-sized refrigerator while Melissa worked on pouring two glasses of orange juice for her tables.
“Shit.” Alex huffed and wiped at his forehead now dripping in sweat. “The thermostat is off. This fucker’s broke again. We gotta move everything or it’s all going bad. Could this day get any worse?”
Matt had just gotten done loading some more toast onto the conveyer belt. He walked around the counter, hoping to be more helpful. “You cook. I’ll move the stuff and take care of the toast.”
Alex narrowed his eyes as if unsure he could manage all that.
“Look, I’ve got a college degree,” Matt reminded him. “I can handle moving some shit around. Go. Take care of your orders.”
“Okay.” Alex wiped at his forehead again and then looked at his hands and groaned. He walked over to the corner and grabbed a red bandanna off the shelf above the sink. He tied it over his sun-streaked hair. “Melissa, can you tell them to crank on the air? We’re dying back here.”
“Air’s still acting up,” Melissa kept loading the plates onto her tray.
“He didn’t get it fixed yet?” Alex gaped. “When I left on Thursday, Frank told me he’d get it done before the weekend.”
“He said it was either that or the payroll.” Melissa shrugged as she picked up the tray.
“Sweat my ass off or get paid. Wonderful.” Alex shook his head as he walked back to the flattop. “I’d grab a bandanna, Tarrington. When the air’s acting up, it gets well over a hundred degrees in this kitchen. Standing in front of those warmers and that toaster, you’re gonna be sweating come lunch time.”
Matt was already working on moving everything from the broken fridge to the good one, so he didn’t bother to answer. He was just second-guessing this whole idea of trying to pull off this job when Alex let out a broken, pained laugh at the series of unfortunate events that had unfolded in the span of a few hours.
“I’m partying later. I deserve it.” Alex announced with grim determination. “You do too, ’cause you haven’t complained once, and if I had your money, I would’ve quit ten minutes in. You wanna party tonight, Tarrington?”
Matt paused in the rush to save the food and turned to look at Alex in surprise. They’d passed each other on the beach while partying with their separate groups of friends, but they’d never been to the same party. Deciding he didn’t have anything better to do, he shrugged and said, “Sure.”
“Well, okay.” Alex grinned and turned around to the flattop, seeming to have a renewed sense of energy at the promise of a party after their shift. He was quiet and focused for a few minutes as he worked through several tickets, then said in a low voice, as if talking to himself, “Now all I gotta do is make a party.”
Chapter Four
“Okay, tell me the truth, Tarrington.” Alex looked at Matt across the portable picnic table they’d planted in the sand. Moonlight danced in Matt’s short black hair and reflected in his light eyes glazed from too much alcohol. With the sharp air of general uptightness that clung to the former college boy eliminated by the night’s festivities, it made him look better than ever. Alex was one tequila shot away from crawling across the table and molesting him. Instead he asked, “Why the fuck are you working at Frank’s?”
Matt laughed and took another drink of his beer as he looked away. “Just something to do.”
“Bullshit.” Alex snorted. “You got tons of shit to do. Play golf. Get tan. Count your money. Get pedicures.”
“Fuck you, Hunter!”
“You’ve gotten a fucking pedicure.” Alex cackled. “Put your foot up here. Prove me wrong. I know you got a clear coat on those pretty toes of yours.”
Matt flipped him off instead. Alex thought that was funny as shit because he suspected Matt did actually get pedicures. He couldn’t stop laughing.
“Admit it!” Alex demanded, determined now that he suspected the truth. “You pay to go and have some cute girl worship your feet. It’s okay. I’m not judging you. You can tell me.”
“I don’t get my toenails painted.” Matt finally shrugged. “But I may have gotten a pedicure before. It’s not as bad as it sounds. They’re unisex.”
Alex howled. He fell off the bench and landed on his back in the sand. He was so fucking drunk the stars were spinning, reminding him of a club in South Beach or Key West with half-dressed, beautiful men rubbing against him to the hypnotic thump of music. God, he could handle a
real
party right now, not this mock-up of old high-school buddies he’d thrown together just for the excuse to get Matt Tarrington lit.
A volleyball suddenly whizzed past him, and Alex caught it on instinct. He tucked it under his arm rather than toss it back.
“Are you stoned?” Brandon asked as he ran up to Alex, sweaty and breathless from a game of moonlight beach volleyball.
Alex was drunk off his ass, but not stoned. Pot made him horny as hell, and that was the last thing he needed in Mirabella where his only glimmer of hope for sex was a straight, rich boy whose gayest tendency was getting a pedicure, which, Alex had to admit, was pretty fucking gay—maybe there was hope after all.
“No, I’m playing.” Alex got to his feet. He shook the sand out of his hair and then tossed Brandon the ball to pull off his shirt. “You coming, Tarrington?”
“Sure.” Matt surprised him by standing up in agreement and tugging his shirt over his head. “Whose team am I on?”
“You can be on my team,” Alex said distantly, eyeing Matt’s bare chest and knowing he was being blatantly obvious.
Matt was broad and muscular. His skin was smooth and tan, with a thin trail of black hair leading beneath the waistband of his shorts. Alex’s gaze followed it hungrily as his cock started to get hard as if this really was a club in Key West, instead of a usual Saturday get together.
“You sure you’re not stoned?” Brandon asked. “You’re spaced the fuck out tonight.”
“I had a shit day.” Alex took the volleyball back and walked over to the net. Seeing the other players, he announced. “Holly, you’re on my team with Tarrington. Brandon, you get Daryl and George.”
“I wasn’t hitting on her,” Brandon said nervously. “She got bored cheerleading with the other girls, but she didn’t want to play with Daryl so I offered to team up with her and—”
“Whatever, man.” Alex was a little too drunk and turned on to pretend he cared who Holly was playing volleyball with. He looked to Matt and asked, “Do you know how to play volleyball?”
Matt smiled confidently, showing even white teeth in the semidarkness. “A lot better than I know how to make toast.”
“Looking good, snowbirdie,” Holly said to Matt as she came bouncing over to their side of the net. She gave Alex a wide, teasing smile. “This should be an interesting game.”
Alex shrugged, refusing to rise to her bait, because it was obvious Holly was drunk too. “He says he knows how to play.”
“I’m sure he does.” Holly wagged her eyebrows and turned back to inspect Matt once more. “He’s certainly fit enough.”
Alex studied Matt, who seemed perfectly comfortable with Holly’s teasing, which wasn’t surprising. A guy that ripped and good-looking probably had a different woman in his bed every night.
“It sounds like your girl’s hitting on the trust-fund baby,” Daryl called from the other side of the net.
Annoyed and oddly jealous but not for the reasons his friends suspected, Alex turned and served the ball without warning, just to watch the other team dive for it.
Surprisingly, George hit the serve and sent it back over the net despite the sneak attack from Alex. Unprepared for the game to actually start, they would’ve lost the first point if Matt hadn’t run up, jumped, and spiked the ball as if his life depended on winning this three-on-three drunken game of volleyball.
Daryl cursed and skidded in the sand in an attempt to save it, but missed anyway. Holly jumped up and shouted in triumph. So did Sara and Melissa, who were cheering from their position in front of the beach fire. Alex turned to give Matt a look of shock, because he’d been drinking as much as the rest of them. That move was impressive sober. After six beers it was awe-inspiring.
Matt shrugged when he caught Alex gaping at him. “I’m competitive.”
“We noticed!” Holly pulled at her ponytail, tugging her long hair to tighten it. “We’re gonna win.”
“Yeah, we are,” Alex agreed.
Then Alex ran up and intercepted the ball midair when George sent it back at them, obviously using their distraction to his advantage. Alex slammed his fist against it and sent it back over the net. It crashed into the sand in a way that was every bit as impressive as Matt’s bold move. His competitiveness was obviously motivating.
Matt whooped and slammed his hands against Alex’s while the other team scrambled for the ball as it rolled toward the fire. It was a strange moment, sharing high fives with Matt and feeling the wonderful thrill of camaraderie that came from having a teammate he could trust without an ounce of doubt.
For the first time, something strange occurred to Alex. He didn’t just want to fuck the shit out of Matt Tarrington—he wanted to be his friend.
* * * *
“Tell me, tell me, tell me,” Alex chanted three hours later. “Why, why, why the hell are you working at Frank’s?”
Matt laughed and took a drink out of the bottle of whiskey they’d started sharing when the beer had run out. The two of them sat side-by-side near the fire that simmered down to the crackle of dying embers dancing over the glowing logs. Sea breeze and burned wood scented the air. Classic rock played from the small portable radio they’d brought.
This was Alex’s favorite part of a beach party, the lazy buzz that came as everything started winding down in the early-morning hours. Where only a few of them had survived to the end, and the last ones left were drunk enough to crash on the sand and sleep there until the tourists found them passed out in the morning.
Holly and Melissa were dancing in that free-spirited, carefree way that came from moving to music in the moonlight after drinking all night.
George and Sara had taken off to go fuck somewhere down the beach.
Brandon and Daryl had left an hour ago, claiming they had to work in the morning. Alex did too, but he was officially too drunk and too turned on to care about having to be at work in a couple of hours.
Matt looked away from the girls dancing and asked, “You really wanna know why I’m working at Frank’s?”
“Yes.” Alex gave him a look. “I’m fucking dying to know.”
Matt arched an eyebrow. “Even if it makes me sound like an asshole?”
“All you trust-fund babies are assholes,” Alex said dismissively. “It’s the first thing your parents teach you, how to be an asshole to the little people. That’s what keeps you ahead—knowing how to step on folks to get what you want.”
“Nice to know you don’t buy into stereotypes.” Matt snorted. “I suppose all you locals are lazy beach bums who work all day in some shit job just to have enough extra cash to party all night.”
“You just summed up my life, man,” Alex admitted proudly as he fell back against the beach mat.
“You don’t want more than this?”
“What more is there?” Alex asked in an awed voice as he stared up at the stars. “I live on the beach all year long. I go to Key West a few weekends a month to fish. I got my friends to party with. My brother to split the bills with. No stress. No worries. It doesn’t get better than this.”
Matt was silent for a long moment before he sighed. “Yeah, when you put it like that your life does sound pretty good. You’ll probably live thirty years longer than me, Hunter, because I gotta fuckload of stress, and I haven’t even started my real job yet.”
“What is your real job? What’re you gonna do once you’re done with your internship at Frank’s café?”
“I’m supposed to help out my uncle.”
“What does your uncle do?”
“He’s CEO.”
“Of Tarrington’s department stores?”
“Tarrington Enterprises,” Matt corrected. “There’s more than just the department stores.”
“Wow.” Alex mused as he rolled onto his side and grabbed the bottle of whiskey from Matt. “So that’s like a billion-dollar company, huh?”
Matt shrugged. “We do all right.”
“How long until you’re supposed to run it?”
Matt turned to him and sighed. “Not long enough.”
“Not excited about all the money and power?”
“I already got money. The job is just loyalty and family obligation bullshit. I gotta do it because my father did it and his father did it. It’s like inheriting a future heart attack.”
“Right, I’m not gonna feel bad for you.” Alex laughed incredulously. “My brother works his ass off at law school, doing his homework until three in the morning just to get a leg up in life, and you’re pissed off about the corner office waiting for you. Fuck you.”
“Yeah, that does make me sound like an aristocratic prick.” Matt laughed after a moment. “I guess you’re right; we’re all raised to be assholes. This shit made sense when I explained it to my friends. They got it.”
“I’ve met your friends; they’re definitely assholes,” Alex agreed as he laughed with him. “Speaking of which, are you gonna tell me why you’re working at Frank’s?”