No Place That Far (12 page)

They both went back to their stations and finished prepping, which at least kept his hands busy and his mind engaged. Timur sat on the barstool, watching proceedings but not blocking the area.

When the doors opened, he attracted some attention, but most guys in the crowd were probably too sober to approach him directly. Maybe it was because he wasn't dressed to the nines or mostly undressed, unlike a large portion of the crowd, so he didn't immediately fit into any of the categories. And with his unusual looks, he might even be a straight foreigner who was unaware what it meant that there were almost no women around, and those who came here tended to be one or two in a group of gay men. So people played it safe, at least until they'd had some liquid courage or Timur might have lost his shirt. Either of them.

Timur watched the crowd with an expression that was hard to read—above all, he seemed very relaxed without slouching, and at the same time extremely alert. About two hours into the shift, Marcus pushed a fresh Green Beast toward him, which had the calculated effect that some of the patrons saw the bright green drink and asked what he was serving. He immediately sold two more.

As the volume in the club increased, and everyone had to shout to be heard, Timur still seemed completely relaxed. Not necessarily in his element, but not as far out of it as Marcus would have expected either. He figured Timur would've taken off by now, but he seemed perfectly content chilling by the bar.

Liam wasn't usually a fan of the guys bringing their boyfriends, husbands or fuck buddies to work for more than a drink or two—his own husband swung by once in a while but didn't usually linger beyond an hour. He didn't mind Timur, though. Didn't take much to figure out why—Timur was like a man magnet. As the club's patrons got drunker and drunker, they also got more confident and more aggressive, and one after the other, they approached the big exotic man and flirted over the music and voices.

At first, Marcus wasn't sure what he thought of that. But after a few had come and gone, and each tried unsuccessfully to lure Timur out onto the dance floor, Marcus couldn't help being amused by the whole thing. Timur wasn't the model with a waxed six-pack, but he definitely intrigued the crowd tonight, and they were collectively bound and determined to get him to dance. Marcus suspected a few of them wanted more than just some bumping and grinding under the disco lights.

He grinned to himself as he poured his four-millionth Long Island iced tea of the night.

Keep trying, boys. He'll be sleeping in my bed tonight.

During a brief lull, he leaned across the bar and shouted, “Doing all right?”

Timur nodded. “Is good.”

Is good. Of course.

Marcus chuckled, patted his arm and went back to pouring booze.

By the time the club was so packed that people could barely move, Marcus had stopped worrying about Timur. Not that he had much choice—there were customers crowded around his station, shouting drink orders and waving money at him. It was going to be a great night for tips, that was for sure, and his gorgeous companion seemed to be having a good time too. Everything was as it should be.

Is good.

And then some shitfaced jerkwad shoved his way to the front of the crowd and slammed a glass down on the bar. “What the fuck is this?”

Marcus suppressed a groan, and continued mixing a Sex on the Beach on autopilot. “I'm sorry?”

“Hey, get back,” someone said, elbowing the guy. “Wait in—”

“I did wait in line,” the guy slurred. “And I got this piece-of-shit drink.” He picked up the glass and waved it, sending its contents sloshing onto the bar. “I fucking tipped you. Get it right.”

Marcus took a breath and set his shoulders back. “Let me finish this, and I'll—”

“Fuck you! Fix it now!”

“Hey, man.” Someone else nudged the guy's arm. “Take it easy. He's—”

“Fuck you too. I'm not drinking this shit.”

Without warning, the drunk son of a bitch threw the glass at Marcus. Marcus ducked and was only hit by some flying booze and a couple of ice cubes while the glass shattered against the back wall.

And out of nowhere, Timur was there. He had the guy's arm in one hand, the front of his shirt in the other, and he'd pinned the little fucker against the bar. His lips pulled back across his teeth, his eyes flashing with rage, and Marcus wouldn't have been at all surprised if the drunk—who was half Timur's size—had shit himself.

Everyone else took a startled step back, and though the music was still blasting, the room may as well have fallen silent. The bouncers were on their way, bald heads gleaming in the disco lights as they shoved through the crowd.

“Hey, hey.” Marcus leaned forward and touched Timur's arm. “Easy. Let him go.”

Timur's eyes shifted toward Marcus, and his expression softened slightly, but he didn't let go. “You're all right?”

“Yeah. I'm fine. I'm…” Marcus brushed a few drops of liquor off his shirt and showed his hands. “I'm fine. Is good.”

Timur loosened his grasp. The drunk jerked away from him but managed to tumble right into the tree-size arms of Jack and Casey.

“You're out of here, motherfucker,” Casey growled and grabbed the douche bag by the scruff. As he led him toward the door, everyone else turned their attention back to Timur, and Marcus was pretty sure half the room had instantly sobered up.

Liam materialized beside Marcus. “What the fuck is going on?”

Marcus looked around, unwilling to get chewed out by his boss in front of the crowd, not sure how to read him. Thankfully, Liam caught on, didn't force his point out here and instead nodded toward the office.

That, of course, triggered Timur's protective nature, and he took another small step forward, as if to shield Marcus. Marcus placed a hand against Timur's chest. “It's okay. It's all under control.”

Timur looked dubious, glanced quickly at Liam, and maybe it was his fairly blank face, and really just his impressive build, but it wasn't the friendliest glance. There was a fair bit of warning in it. Great. Just great. “Just telling my boss how this happened. Back in a few.”

Before this could get any weirder, he headed to Liam's office and waited for his boss to close the door behind them. Shit. He hadn't exactly done anything wrong, but Liam preferred the whole ship on an even keel. He definitely didn't like troublemakers. Hell, when Marcus had run his kitchen, people who brought trouble into his sleek and efficient machine tended to find themselves outside that kitchen very quickly.

“The customer was angry about his drink—I don't know, didn't like it, expected it to be different, I don't know, we never got to that part. He started to get annoyed when I didn't drop the drink I was just making, and ended up throwing his glass at me.”

Liam looked him square in the eye, and Marcus tried not to notice how Liam's eyes were almost the same shade as Timur's.

“Did he hit you?” Liam asked.

Marcus almost breathed with relief. Liam was a good boss—as shown again in that question. “No. Just some splatter and ice cubes. I'll live.”

“And Attila the Hun?”

“Timur? He… I think he just saw the glass fly and grabbed the customer. Didn't hurt him, just restrained him. Jack and Casey stepped in immediately.”

Liam absently rubbed the backs of his fingers along his scruffy jaw. “And what about you?”

Marcus blinked. “What about me?”

“You, uh…” Liam glanced at the door, and he suddenly seemed nervous. Fidgety. Pulling in a deep breath, he turned to Marcus again. “Listen, I'm glad the situation didn't get out of control, but…”

It was Marcus's turn to get fidgety. “But…?”

Liam moistened his lips. “How volatile is that guy?”

“Volatile?” A laugh burst out of Marcus, and he shook his head. “He's not. I mean, he's a soldier. He saw a situation, and—”

“He saw someone messing with his man.”

Marcus blinked again. “What? No. He—”

“Marcus.” Liam's voice was gentle but firm. Not quite the boss voice, but definitely the
you're going to shut up and listen to me
tone. “What would have happened to that drunk shithead if you hadn't stepped in and calmed your guy down?”

“I…”

“Because from where I stood, it looked a lot like someone was about to get his ass beat. And to be honest, I'm not even sure Jack and Casey would've been able to talk Timur down if he'd really lost it.”

Marcus studied Liam. Folding his arms across his damp shirt, he tilted his head. “What are you getting at here? He jumped in and intervened because he thought the guy was getting out of control.”

“And it looked to me like
he
was close to getting out of control.”

Marcus exhaled, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Look, I'll have him wait for me at my place. I won't bring him in—”

“That's not my concern.” Liam took a step back and eased himself down on the edge of the desk, arms folded loosely across his chest. “But I've seen guys like him before. The ones who are protective.” He nodded toward the door. “
That
protective. And it doesn't take much for that to, you know, escalate.”

“Escalate?” Marcus shifted, dress shoes creaking softly in the otherwise silent office. “In what way?”

“Protective can get possessive. I mean, your personal life is none of my business. I guess I just want to make sure you're not putting yourself in a dangerous situation.”

“No.” Marcus shook his head. “He's not like that at all. He's actually really sweet and laid-back.”

“So was my ex,” Liam said flatly. “For a while.”

“Yeah, and I know how they can change too. My ex-husband was…” Marcus waved a hand. “I get it. Believe me. But what happened out there”—he pointed at the door—“was nothing like that. To be honest, I think if Timur was actually going to get violent with the guy, he would've. But once the situation was defused and the guy stopped, so did he.”

Liam chewed his lip.

“Think about it,” Marcus said softly. “If Timur wanted to, he'd have broken the guy in two before the glass hit the wall. Yeah, he got angry. Yeah, he went hands-on. But he didn't take it any further than that, and I really don't think he was going to.” He shrugged. “And he defused everything before Jack and Casey even knew what was happening.”

“Yeah, he did. And he's welcome to stay here. I just want to make sure you're not in a bad situation.”

“No, I'm definitely not.” Marcus smiled. “He really is just sweet and laid-back. I can't even remember the last time I was ever this comfortable and relaxed around a guy.”

Liam held his gaze, then laughed as he stood. He clapped Marcus's shoulder. “You're really taken with him, aren't you?”

“As much as I can be, I guess.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means he's only here for another three weeks.” Marcus's heart sank at the reminder. “Then he's off to parts unknown to play legionnaire for a few more years.”

Liam scowled. “That's a shame. If he's as chill as you say he is, and he's making you so comfortable and relaxed…”

“Yeah. Tell me about it.” Under normal circumstances, he might even have considered more, possibly. Like, date for six months plus and see if things stayed this good. But three weeks was nowhere near enough. “You know what, why don't you and Jon come over to my place, and I'll whip something up for lunch or dinner, and you get to meet Timur when he's not in a crowded room full of strangers.”

“You did say you were a chef.”

“And a pretty good one.” Marcus felt the tension seep out of him as the conversation moved on to safer territory. “Though I won't exactly do it to Le Chien Bleu's level, but you won't leave hungry or disappointed.”

“Sounds great. Let me know when it's good for you.” Liam gently nudged him. “And maybe get back to your station before Timur gets upset and breaks you out.” A wink, a grin—it was clearly a joke.

“Will do.” Marcus chuckled. “Thanks. It's a bit strange… I thought I'd signed up just for a job, but…” Was that going to sound cheesy? Probably, yeah. “I've been surprised how much you guys look after each other.” Definitely cheesy.

“Good staff's still pretty hard to find, especially guys who can keep up.” Liam opened the door and let him go.

Marcus was glad to be back at his station, though he couldn't find the customer who'd ordered the Long Island iced tea. Kieran glanced over and nodded at him.
Thanks,
Marcus mouthed in his direction, before a new customer waved money in his face and he got back into taking orders and mixing drinks. When the first five customers were served, he looked around for Timur.

The legionnaire sat at the end of the bar, watching again. Their eyes met, and, yeah, that tingle went all the way to Marcus's toes and tightened his balls. He gave Timur a thumbs-up and saw him relax. That helped a great deal with the rest of the evening—it was a busy shift, and he really didn't want to get too sidetracked by worrying about Timur.

But none of that was necessary. No more altercations and nobody managed to drag Timur out on the dance floor. There was one guy who was as pretty as he was insistent, and he almost managed to sit on Timur's lap, but Timur pushed him aside and indicated Marcus. Marcus's heart gave a little stutter. Considering the poisonous glare from that customer, Timur must have said something interesting.

Five minutes later, there was a little lull, and Marcus slid to that side of the bar. “What did you tell him?”

“Who?”

“The guy who was in your lap.”

Timur laughed, running his hand over Marcus's arm, right on top of the bar and in plain sight. “I told him I'm here with you.”