Page 64 of Zero Divergence
Brett smiled prettily and raked his eyes over Sawyer. There was no mistaking the invitation in the bartender’s eyes. “Anytime, and I do mean it.”
Royce nudged Sawyer in the direction of the offices before he had a chance to acknowledge the flirtatious bartender. A few minutes later, they’d somehow parted the sea of men. He knocked on the manager’s closed door and was surprised when a string of yelled curses followed. “For fuck’s sake,” an angry voice snarled. Royce and Sawyer rested their hands on the butts of their guns when they heard heavy footfalls quickly advancing toward them from inside the room. A short, balding man yanked open the door. “Can’t a guy get a—”
Royce would’ve gestured for him to continue, but his open fly, untucked and rumpled dress shirt, and flushed face told him everything he needed to know. “Are you Erik?”
“I am,” he said. His eyes roamed from Sawyer to Royce, taking in the badges around their necks and the way their hands rested on their service weapons. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
Sawyer snorted. “It never is.”
“We’ll head back out to the club and give you a few minutes. We can come back and chat,” Royce said. He had no desire to overhear the manager finishing up, nor did he want to have an awkward exchange when whoever was in there exited the office.
“Why don’t you guys go on up to the VIP lounge and wait for me there. I can see you’re on duty but have a Coke and some wings on me? We have the best in town.”
“So I’ve heard.” Royce thought about declining his offer but suddenly wanted to see what all the fuss was about. How good could the wings be?
“Our VIP lounge is on the—”
“We’ll find our way,” Sawyer said.
“Tell Jesse I sent you. He’ll get you settled, and I’ll be up in a few minutes.”
Royce was surprised when Sawyer stopped by the bar to ask Dave where the VIP lounge was located.
“So, you haven’t earned enough frequent flyer miles to qualify for the VIP lounge, huh?” Royce teased.
“I told you I didn’t visit as often as you imagined.”
Royce just laughed and followed Sawyer through the crowd until they reached a metal staircase where a large man stood at the bottom. He wore a brown leather bomber jacket over an impressive bare chest, dark wash jeans, black boots, and aviator glasses.
“Are you Jesse?” Royce asked. He received a grunt and a slight nod in response. “Erik sent us. He said you’d take care of us while we waited for him.”
Jesse nodded again and gestured for them to head up the steps.
“A man of few words,” Royce remarked when they reached the second floor. Looking around the space, he noted the décor looked like an upscale first-class lounge at an airport. The VIP waitstaff wore tiny gold shorts with the bar’s logo printed on the ass and nothing else unless you counted the smiles and the shimmery substance dusted on their bodies. No shirts, no hats, and no glasses up in the VIP lounge.
“I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, Toto,” Royce said.
Sawyer laughed, then guided him to an empty booth where a sexy, dark-haired waiter promptly greeted them. “Hello, I’m Maverick. What can I get you, fellas?” Maverick. Really? Was another waiter called Goose? Where was Ice Man?
Royce gestured for Sawyer to order for them since he was the expert on all things wings-related at The Cockpit.
“What do you think?” Sawyer asked when they were alone once more.
“I think I understand why this was a favorite place for you to pick up dudes,” Royce countered. “I can also see why Blakemore makes more money in a weekend here than he does a few weeks at the law firm.”
“You want to come back here sometime when we’re not on duty?” Sawyer asked.
“Depends on how good the wings are,” Royce answered. “This club music is shitty, I’m not a good dancer, and I have the only guy I want to bump, grind, and get sweaty with, GB. Why? Do you want to come back?”
Sawyer shook his head. “No. I just don’t want you to get bored.”
Royce leaned forward and kissed Sawyer. “No fucking way, asshole. I am happy to skip over the things you consider rites of passage to get my big prize.” Royce cupped Sawyer’s face, brushing his thumb over the stubble on his jaw. “In case you haven’t figured it out yet, you’re my prize. I fucking love you.”
“I fucking—”
“There you are,” Erik said, sounding like he sprinted up the stairs to find them. “Have you ordered yet?”
“We have,” Sawyer told the man, scooting closer to Royce in the semicircular booth to make room for Erik to join them.