No Place That Far (11 page)

Chapter Nine

But regardless of how much fun they had, Marcus did eventually have to go back to work. That also ensured that the cats got fed and the litter boxes cleaned, he supposed. So after they left the Space Needle, they stopped by at Chris and Julien's place to look after the cats. Then Marcus drove them to Wilde's. The plan was for Timur to take his keys and chill at Marcus's place until after closing. Of course that flew in the face of trying to keep this casual, sticking together like this all the time, but on the other hand, why not make the best of what time they had together?

Marcus pulled into the parking lot and switched the engine off. “I have about an hour until the shift starts.”

“Will wait with you.” Timur didn't seem to have any other pressing items on his social schedule, so why the hell not. He could have a drink or just breathe some air or watch people, maybe even dance.

“Sure. Here are my keys.” He dug in his pocket for the keys and handed them over. “You get bored, just go hang out at my place. It's not far from here, and there's plenty of food in the fridge.”

Timur took the keys and nodded, but didn't leave just yet.

Marcus pushed the door open and got his work clothes out of the trunk, then headed to the club, Timur in tow. Jack was already in, even though the doors wouldn't open for a while, and, again, Timur attracted his attention. “Who's your friend, Marcus?”

Marcus slowed down and turned toward Timur, then back at Jack. “Friend of mine. Timur. He's also a friend of Julien's. They were both in the Legion.”

Jack nodded as if that made a whole lot of sense. Marcus supposed it did—Timur was big, powerful, obviously foreign and friends with Chris's husband. The Legion made as much sense as anything.

While Marcus prepped his station, Timur took a seat on one of the barstools.

“This might be kind of boring,” Marcus said.

Timur shrugged, folding his hands on the bar, which wouldn't be nearly that clean and dry in a couple of hours. “Boredom isn't always bad.”

Marcus eyed him. “What do you mean?”

A slight grin played at Timur's lips. “Boredom means no one is shooting at you.”

Marcus laughed. “I hadn't thought of it like that.”

Shrugging again, Timur chuckled. “Hadn't either. Until war.”

Marcus paused, hands hovering over the garnish tray he'd been reaching for. Though he knew Julien had seen combat and he'd heard some of the stories—what few the man was willing to share—and he knew Timur had been a soldier for a decade, there was something odd about hearing that he'd been to war. Or maybe that there'd ever been a time when he
hadn't
been to war. When he
hadn't
appreciated boredom because the alternative was taking fire.

Clearing his throat, Marcus picked up the garnish tray. As he rinsed it in the sink below the bar, he said, “Well. Um. At least you're well prepared.” He laughed quietly. “This place isn't very exciting this time of day.”

“Means you're not busy with others.” Timur smiled. “Is good.”

Marcus met his eyes, and his heart fluttered a little. What a concept—a man who just liked spending time together without the need to be constantly entertained. Where
were
men like this hiding?

His gaze slid toward Chris's vacant station. Oh. Right. They were all hiding in the French Foreign Legion.

He cleared his throat and reached for a towel to dry the garnish tray. “Do you, uh, want something to drink?”

Timur's gaze flicked up to the top-shelf bottles behind Marcus, and his eyebrows rose a little. “I've never…” he waved a hand at the bottles, “…never seen these.”

Marcus glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah, I guess there are a lot of options. Something with vodka?” As soon as he said it, he cringed. Good one, dude. Offer the Ukrainian guy vodka.

Timur laughed, though. “You are bartender. You know what is good.”

“It's all a matter of taste. What I like, someone else might not.”

“We've liked same so far.”

Marcus paused, wondering if they were still talking about food and drinks. He met Timur's gaze, and the gleam in those green eyes answered that question. No, they were definitely
not
talking about food and drinks. And, damn, he would actually have to spend some of that month outside the bed, never mind working, though Timur's presence made him question if that was remotely compatible with his human rights. Getting laid was a human right, wasn't it?

Anyway, cocktail. Most of his working shift he spent making the really simple ones—rum and coke, vodka and orange—and that was fine and dandy. Next came the common ones—daiquiris and mojitos and kamikazes—but he'd learned a few hundred recipes, and there were quite a few cocktails that he actually preferred but nobody ever requested.

“You choose” invited that level of creativity and electrified his synapses that were bored with the 99 percent usual orders. Looking at Timur, it had to be something with a French connection—something with Pernod, because it didn't get more French than that. Actually, absinthe. While he'd trained, the green stuff had been illegal, but then it had become legal again a few years ago.

He pulled up a Collins glass, dropped ice into it, then found the absinthe bottle. A shot of absinthe, same amount of lime juice, added syrup and topped it up with water, with a cucumber slice as garnish. Straw pushed in. “There.”

Timur came closer and took the glass, sniffed at it and gave him a curious look. “What is it?”

“Green Beast. Haven't made one in ages.” He could probably have come up with something darker green, but the name did it. “How is it?”

Timur sucked on the straw and nodded. “Is good.”

And damn it, but those two words were now forever tied into sweaty sex.

“Glad you like it.” Marcus's mouth had suddenly gone dry, so he pulled his water bottle out from under the sink and took a long swallow. Christ. He usually wasn't parched until closer to the end of his shift, when he'd been pouring booze for progressively more inebriated men for several hours. A few minutes, a look and a two-word phrase from Timur somehow had the same effect.

Do you really have to leave in a month?

That thought nearly made Marcus choke on his own breath, and he quickly shoved it to the back of his mind.

But apparently not before his face registered something, because Timur lowered his drink and asked, “Something wrong?”

“No. Nothing.” Marcus coughed and glanced around. “I, uh, need to refill my ice tray. Back in a second.”

Timur nodded and continued working his way through the Green Beast, and Marcus damn near sprinted into the back room where the ice bin was. He picked up the bucket but didn't fill it right away. Instead, he rested his arm on the ice bin and closed his eyes.

What the fuck was the matter with him? Yesterday, he'd been fine with this arrangement—sex, cooking, tourism, more sex.

Now the idea of Timur leaving at the end of the month—it threw him off. They'd known each other for a few days. They
barely
spoke the same language. Marcus was hardly in love with the guy, but, damn it, he really liked him. That mellow, easygoing personality. The playfulness.

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. Well, at least he
knew
this was going to end sooner than later. There wouldn't be weeks, months, years of uncertainty, wondering who was finally going to drop the hammer and call it quits because, holy shit, they were both miserable. Less than a month from now, Timur would be gone, and Marcus would be back to cooking for himself, using packed boxes for furniture and wishing somebody
else
would give him a hand job for a change.

Marcus shook himself, then opened the ice bin and filled the bucket. He carried it back into the lounge area, and—

Stopped.

Three of his coworkers were gathered around his station, chatting with Timur. And, no, that wasn't jealousy that had just flared up in Marcus's chest. Just…surprise. No jealousy.

He continued toward the station, and Kieran moved aside so Marcus could pour the ice into the tray.

Marcus set the empty bucket at his feet. “I see you've met everyone.”

“Actually, we haven't really been introduced.” Liam gestured at Timur. “I thought he might've been a customer wandering in early.”

“No, he's with me.” Gesturing at each person in turn, Marcus said, “This is my boss, Liam. Kieran. Jack. Timur.”

“Timur?” Liam asked as he shook the man's hand. “That's an unusual name.”

Timur shrugged. “Maybe here. Like Tamerlane—Mongols.”

Wow. He'd been named after Tamerlane? It probably made sense—his features were unusual, but then, Timur hedged about his family, so asking him his exact parentage and ethnic mix might not be welcome. It also really shouldn't matter. Hadn't for the Legion.

“He's one of Julien's comrades from the Legion, here between contracts. He was Julien's best man at the wedding.”

Kieran laughed. “Hey, he does look different in a tux.”

Liam nodded. “Thought I'd seen him before, but couldn't quite place him. Is he staying at your place?”

“No, he's Julien and Chris's cat-sitter. I'm just showing him the city.”

He was fooling exactly nobody in the room, but at least the guys didn't start ribbing him over it—being the new guy had its advantages; they didn't pester him too much, however playfully.

“When are you going back?” Kieran asked, and sounded perfectly innocent.

“Three weeks.”

“Well, enjoy your time in Seattle.” Liam gave Timur a smile and returned to his office.

“Have you seen much of the city?” Kieran asked Timur, but his gaze slid toward Marcus, and the sly look made Marcus's cheeks burn.

“Marcus shows me.” Timur sipped his Green Beast. “Much to see. Not much time.”

No, not much time at all…

“You should check out the underground tour,” Kieran said. “Alex and I did it a few months ago, and it's pretty cool.”

“Underground?”

“Yeah. The city was built too low, so they lifted the streets up, but you can still walk around the lower part.”

Timur's eyebrows rose, and he glanced at Marcus. “Lifted? Streets?”

“We'll check it out,” Marcus said. “I've never done that tour either, so it could be interesting.”

“All right.” Timur shrugged. “I go where you go.”

And why the hell do I wish that didn't end in three weeks?

“Cool. We'll check it out.” Marcus picked up the empty ice bucket. “I need to put this back and grab a few things out of the walk-in. Sit tight for a minute.”

He thought Timur might not understand the phrase—sometimes he didn't realize he'd used a slang term or something until he'd actually said it—but Timur seemed to at least catch the gist and stayed at Marcus's station with his drink.

Marcus carried the empty bucket into the back, set it by the ice bin and stepped into the walk-in cooler to grab a few garnishes.

“He's really gone in three weeks?”

Marcus glanced over his shoulder. Kieran was mostly backlit, his face obscured, but Marcus knew his voice. “Yeah. Going back to the Legion.”

Kieran stepped all the way into the walk-in, the overhead light illuminating some of his features. He was usually the playful, smirking type with a wicked sense of humor, but he seemed more serious now. “Are you, uh, okay with that?”

“Okay with it?” Marcus busied himself gathering jars of cherries and a handful of limes. “I've known him a week.”

“Seems like you two get along pretty well.”

There was no suggestive undertone. No amused double meaning.

Marcus swallowed. “Yeah, we do.” He tucked one of the cherry jars under his arm and faced Kieran. “Kind of hard to get to know someone when there's a language barrier, though.”

“Yeah, I guess it would be.” Kieran studied him, the overhead light emphasizing the crevices between his eyebrows. “It's not really my business, but…I don't know, you seemed kind of off-balance around him. Especially when he mentioned leaving.”

“I don't know about off-balance.” Marcus picked up the limes and another cherry jar and nodded toward the door. As Kieran started ahead of him, Marcus added, “It's kind of like being on vacation, you know? You're having a good time, and you don't want it to end, even though you know it has to and life will go back to normal once it does.”

Kieran stopped outside the walk-in and turned around. “Yeah, but some vacations take longer to recover from than others.”

“I'll be fine.” Marcus toed the heavy door shut, and as Kieran latched it, added, “Hopefully Liam will go easy on me that first week. I'll probably have a bit of a vacation hangover.”

He thought Kieran would laugh, and he kind of did, but that concern was still etched pretty deep into his features. “He probably will. Liam's cool like that.” He paused, then shrugged, but it was a taut gesture. “Well, as long as you're all right. You just seemed…off.”

“I'll be fine. And, hey, by the time I have to recover from my ‘vacation', Chris will be back to pick up the slack.”

Chris will be back. With Julien. His ex-legionnaire. The ex-legionnaire who wouldn't be leaving to go back to—

Jesus, Marcus. Get a grip.

He shifted the limes and jar he was holding. “Anyway. I should finish prepping my station.”

“Yeah. Me too. Just, uh, let me know if you need anything, okay?”

He met Kieran's eyes. And, no, they were definitely not talking about garnishes and well drinks. He could pretend they were, because he really didn't need help and couldn't foresee having to ask for it, but he was still glad that he worked in a place where people cared about their coworker enough to offer help or advice. It certainly wasn't the dog-eat-dog world of some other places, or the slight awkwardness at Le Chien Bleu, where he'd been the boss and husband of the owner, which prevented very close relationships between him and the other staff. He didn't want to pretend and also didn't want to linger on exactly why he looked rattled enough to invite offers for help, so he settled on a simple “Thanks.”