Page 2 of Confession (Constantine Brothers #2)

TWO

Quinn

I hate working the bar. It exhausts me to interact with people like this, but being in this role again switched me into this character I used to play. Compared to Alesha and Keith, I’m not actually being that friendly, but it still feels like an over-the-top performance to me.

“Enjoy,” I say as I slide a Cosmo across the bar to a young woman in a pink mesh top. I give her a wink and she gives me a twenty-dollar tip. “Thanks, darlin’.”

She eats it the fuck up. I swear to god, straight men are so dumb. They have it so easy with women. It’s a lot harder to impress a man.

Of course, it would help if the man I’m in love with was actually gay. But I’m a glutton for punishment.

Speaking of which.

Vitali appears at the top of the steps leading from the mezzanine to the ground floor. Given the noise, crowd, and general chaos, I shouldn’t have noticed him, but I’m always acutely aware of him.

I don’t make it obvious, but I watch from the corner of my eye as he descends the steps.

He’s wearing a fitted white dress shirt with his black pinstripe pants and waistcoat, no tie.

The black tattoos that heavily mark his shoulders and chest hook up along his neck at his collar.

He’s arrogant as fuck, moving with an unmistakable I-own-the-place energy.

I don’t know why that makes my dick so hard, but it does. Always has.

I think I hide it pretty well.

Of course, I hide a lot of things. Practice makes perfect and all that. So why the hell is it getting harder instead of easier?

I’m busy making drinks for a table but still offer a what-can-I-get-you nod to a redhead in a white crop top.

She orders a mojito. “Good choice,” I tell her automatically, but I’m groaning inside. It’ll take me a minute to get that done, which means I’ll have to draw out our interaction.

“I’ll do it.”

Vitali’s smooth, dark voice lifts the hair on the back of my neck as he crowds in beside me. I give him a glance of acknowledgment before focusing on the White Russian I’m making.

“Havana Club?” he says, suggesting a rum to the redhead, who’s already lost interest in me. I can’t say I blame her. Vitali’s hot as fuck.

Sure, there’s the arrogance, the tease of his tattoos on his neck and hands, and the expensive, tailored clothes.

Those would go a long way on anyone, but his face .

I never get used to it. It’s the way his cheeks hollow out between his high cheekbones and the hard, angled line of his jaw.

It’s that perfect nose and the sexy, cruel lips.

It’s the dark eyes that burn straight into you.

I was doomed from the moment I set foot in Eclipse two years ago.

Sometimes when I’m alone, I wonder if my obsession with him is self-sabotage or some shit.

Like, as long as I’m in love with Vitali, I’m totally immune to harm because nothing can come of it.

But that explanation falls apart as soon as I’m in his presence—because nothing hurts like being around him.

And yet, it’s the only place I want to be.

I’m very confident that he has no idea. I’m very fucking careful.

Except … I think Sasha knows. Suspects at least. Sometimes, like today, she makes comments that can be interpreted one way—or another.

She’s honestly the best friend I’ve ever had, but she’s such an asshole.

I swear she’s trying to catch me out. And to think I made sushi for her last week. I sincerely regret it.

Vitali puts his hand on my shoulder blade as he reaches into the fridge behind me.

Contact like that is totally normal at the bar when shit’s busy.

It just means, I’m behind you, don’t step back .

Hell, I did it to Keith fifteen minutes ago.

But while my body assigned no meaning to the contact with Keith, it sure as hell assigns meaning now. Heat arrows into my groin.

I don’t know why I’m struggling so much. It just feels like something’s changed with Vitali. I know that’s all in my head, but fuck. I’m way too sensitized.

I was so worried I’d get hard earlier when he insisted on seeing my shoulder. Unbuttoning my shirt in front of him like that? Then him touching me? My mind was in panic mode while my body was confused about whether the moment was sexual or threatening.

It was neither, of course, but I took the warning to heart and put on compression shorts under my jeans just in case. I very rarely wear them because I hate having my dick smashed against my body, but I knew it might be necessary tonight, and fucking hell was I right.

Couldn’t he go stand on the other side of Alesha? And why the hell is he even down here? He only tends the bar in emergencies, which this isn’t. I will grant that Keith and Alesha would’ve been drowning without a third person, but I’m the third person. We’re busting our asses, but we’re managing.

Vitali slides the mojito across the bar as I load my three drinks onto a tray. I edge past him and Alesha, taking the drinks to the end of the bar for the waiting server, who shoots me a quick thanks and vanishes into the crowd.

I really want to take Alesha’s spot and force her down the line toward Vitali, but it would be way too obvious, so I return to my place between Vitali and Keith. I pour beers for a couple of guys, then I gesture an invitation to a petite blonde.

“What can I get you?”

She grins flirtatiously and leans into the bar. “Something fun. What do you suggest?”

Fuck, I don’t have the energy for this. I dig deep. “Margarita? Chocolate martini? Gotta be careful though. Sweet stuff can get you drunk real fast.”

“Well, you’re pretty sweet,” she teases. “Maybe you could get me drunk.”

I give her the expected smile. “That’s kinda my job. Margarita?” I suggest, trying to move things along.

“I can work with that.”

“Salt rim?”

“Ooh, yes, please.”

“You got it.” I get to mixing, all too aware of Vitali staring at me. I have no idea why.

While I work, the blonde asks me about the live music coming up on Sunday. I’ve been asked that four times tonight, so I have a reply ready this time.

When I slide the cocktail across the bar to her, she gives me her card. I run it and return it with the receipt. I get a good tip—and her number.

I don’t want to encourage her, so I just offer a vague nod of thanks as she snags her margarita and flits off. I sense Vitali moving closer, but I’m still surprised as shit when his fingers close on my wrist as I reach for the receipt. I freeze.

An electrical current goes through my body when he leans into me and whispers in my ear, “I didn’t think you were into women.”

I shiver. I can’t help it.

“I’m not.” God, he’s close to me. I can feel the heat of his body.

“Then why were you flirting with her?” There’s something dark in his voice. Something dangerous. My cock stiffens.

I don’t feel like I was flirting with her, but I refuse to be defensive. I point out, “You’re the one who wanted me playing bartender instead of doing my real job.”

Vitali’s irritated exhalation is right by my ear.

It makes goosebumps rise all over my body.

His fingers slide from my wrist down my hand to the receipt.

The touch sends a heavy pulse into my dick.

He tugs the receipt out from under my fingers.

He crumples it up and throws it away, trashing my tip—and the blonde’s number.

“You owe me twenty bucks,” I tell him as he finally backs off and snags a bottle of whiskey from the backlit shelf. I don’t care about the tips. Vitali pays me well, so I was going to leave everything for the rest of the staff.

“Twelve-fifty,” he corrects, pouring a double. “Were you gonna fuck her for that?”

I don’t know why he’s being a dick, but it pisses me off. Having a hard-on that I can’t do anything about doesn’t help my mood either.

“I’m sure she’d accept you as a substitute. If you want to fish her number out of the trash.” At least I assume that’s what this is about, though she didn’t seem like his type. He usually goes for sultry, not flirty.

Vitali’s nostrils flare, and I wonder if we’re about to have a problem. I don’t usually push back at him because he doesn’t usually needle me.

See, this is why I feel like our dynamic has changed. It feels like it started after I got hurt, but I don’t understand why. And it’s not in my head like I keep telling myself.

What I don’t know is which one of us is causing it.

Probably me. I got frustrated with the time off.

I was starting to cycle through anger and depression, which I really fucking hate.

It skews my perspective. I know this. I’ve been through it before.

I just have to get back to normal, with myself and with Vitali.

But then he fucking smiles and chuckles like what I said was amusing, and my brain completely malfunctions. My thoughts vanish. My resolutions vanish, and I just want …

Things I can’t have.

So even though I want to look at him as he leans against the bar, legs crossed at the ankles, sipping his whiskey, I turn away from him, get back to work, and ignore my aching cock.

It’s not like I’m not used to it.