The Broken Triangle (15 page)

Patrick nodded, aware his bottom lip was trembling. “Thank you. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“Good. Now back to work, both of you.” Ben included Vin in his stern look, and Vin grabbed on to Patrick’s arm and started towing him in the direction of the bar.

“I need a drink,” Patrick announced.

“Not a good idea, even if you pay for it this time.”

And that was unfair. A quick shot of vodka at the end of his shift was a traditional perk, and even Shane turned a blind eye, ignoring Ben’s protests about profit margins, as long as it didn’t happen too often. “It’s a great idea, and I was thinking about a ginger ale.” His mouth tasted funky. Gross. Tears and BJs didn’t mix. “And we’re allowed as many of those as we want.”

Vin grimaced. “Oh. Sorry.”

Guilty because Vin’s first assumption had been the right one, Patrick shook his head. “No need to grovel. When it comes to me, assuming the worst is the safest option.”

Vin brought him to a halt, his hand gripping Patrick’s shoulder tightly enough that it hurt before he took it away. “You’ve been given a second chance. Don’t talk yourself into screwing it up to prove a point.”

He pouted, throwing in a toss of his head for the hell of it. The way Shane had reduced him to sniveling made him feel bruised and grubby. He needed to reassert himself, in his eyes and Vin’s, at least. “I don’t need to. Shane just has to wait a week or two, and he’ll find some excuse to fire me. You’ll see.”

“Don’t give him a reason to.” Vin put both his hands on Patrick’s hips like he wanted to get his attention. He had it, even if gazing back into Vin’s eyes was scary, like looking over a cliff at a sheer drop. “I mean it, Patrick. If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me, okay? You think I’d last a week here without you?”

“I think you’ll have an amazing life whether I’m here or not,” Patrick said truthfully.

“Are you kidding me?” It was hard to know what Vin’s expression meant.

“Hey, guys! Any chance I can get another drink this century?” Derek, one of their regulars, was at the bar with an empty glass, and for once Patrick was grateful for impatient customers and interrupted conversations.

“Yeah, sure. Of course.” Pulling away from Vin, Patrick gave him a sunny smile. “Got to live up to my bosses’ expectations, right? We can talk later.”

Not that he had any intention of letting that train continue along the tracks. The thought of what Patrick’s life would be like without Vin was depressing as hell. If it meant being the world’s best employee so he could keep his job and Vin in his life—because Patrick wasn’t an idiot; he knew if they didn’t work together, they never would have been friends in the first place—then Patrick would be the best drink server and piss mopper the world had ever known.

“He’s not going to want me there.” Patrick had said it three times, if not more, but Vin wasn’t listening to the meaning behind the words, just the words themselves, and he was ignoring them.

Which was a mistake, because if Patrick was sure of anything in this world, it was that Riley didn’t like him. Not in a big, dramatic, you-killed-my-father-prepare-to-die way. No, Riley just thought he was trashy. Slutty. Cheap.

And too close to Vin. Riley hated how much time they spent together outside work. Vin had turned up to the last weekly date at Patrick’s an hour late, flushed and muttering something about a call from Riley that’d gone on for a while.

Phone sex. Had to be. Riley was lower than dirt and devious as hell. Patrick gave him points for exploiting his advantage as Vin’s boyfriend, but deducted twice that number for being so boring he made Patrick’s teeth ache. He’d been waiting for Vin to realize the hunk of yummy hotness he’d crushed on as a teenager had turned lukewarm, but so far he was still waiting.

Riley was good-looking, with money in the bank. He was clearly fond of Vin, and he didn’t kick kittens. So what? He wasn’t right for Vin, not in any way at all. Patrick knew he was in a club with a membership of one, because everyone else was still cooing over how romantic it was that Riley and Vin had met again, but he wasn’t buying it.

Discovering Marco and Riley had been friends—it’d taken him a full twenty minutes to get Vin to spill, but he’d kept at it—had him spinning conspiracy theories about revenge and retribution at a feverish rate, but he’d reluctantly set them aside.

Patrick would have loved to hear every detail about the court case that had resulted in a guilty verdict for Marco from the source, but it hadn’t come as a surprise that Shane and Ben didn’t want to talk about it. He knew Shane had been pissed off when Marco’s sentence ended up being the absolute minimum. His boss had punched a hole in the drywall and spent the rest of the day seething with bandaged knuckles, Ben interceding whenever anyone wanted to talk to him.

He’d had one stilted, awkward conversation with Vin about it. For once it had been Vin who wanted to share instead of Patrick trying to worm it out of him, but Vin had been so shaken by the whole experience that Patrick had been glad when the discussion trailed off and turned to other things.

“There’s going to be a ton of people there,” Vin said again.

“So I can stay out of his line of sight, and he won’t know I’m there?” Patrick pouted. “Sounds like fun.”

“It will be fun, if you’ll stop being so weird about the whole thing. You didn’t have to come, you know.” Vin wasn’t being mean, but that didn’t change the fact it made Patrick feel worse.

“It’s a Christmas party. Like I was going to miss one of those.” Patrick smiled just enough to get his dimples showing, spinning around as the snowflakes fell from a leaden sky. They looked stunning against Vin’s black hair, like lace on silk. “Just think, there might be someone there I can fall in love with, and we can hang mistletoe in every room, all year round, and have ‘I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus’ as our song.” He clasped his hands and stared soulfully skyward. “And all our dildos will be red or green. And all our lube will be candy-cane flavor. And—”

He had to stop there. Vin was snickering too much to take in anything Patrick said.

“Promise me you’ll never dress up as Santa and an elf when you have sex with him,” Vin said when he’d gotten his laughter under control.

Patrick opened his mouth to swear solemnly, then reconsidered. Soft red velvet, all that fur. No beard, of course, but ooh, the black leather boots would be hot. And he could so pull off the sexy-elf look. Especially a naughty sexy elf who’d fallen behind on his toy making and needed to go across Santa’s knee.

Vin groaned. “You’re quiet. Tell me I didn’t put weird, kinky ideas in your head.”

“Oh, they’re always there,” Patrick said absently. “You have no idea what goes on in my mind.”

“Never tell me.”

“It’s more fun if I show,” Patrick agreed, stamping his feet to get the snow off his shoes as they arrived at the entrance to Riley’s place. They’d decided to walk since it turned out Patrick lived only about ten blocks from Riley. Funny how his crummy part of town wasn’t too far from Riley’s Very Nice part. Vin would stay with Riley anyway, and Patrick would either walk home, catch a ride with someone, or with any luck, spend the night with someone hot.

Of course, that depended on how many gay friends Riley had. Patrick had gotten the impression Riley had developed a whole little queer circle of friends before reconnecting with Vin, but even if that was true, they might not be the kind of people who would appreciate him. Patrick didn’t have any illusions about who he was, and there were plenty of people who’d turn their noses up at him like the fact he wasn’t privileged meant he’d never learned to shower.

“Wow,” he said after Riley buzzed them in. “This place is even nicer than I thought.”

“I know, right?” At least Vin got it. If he hadn’t, Patrick didn’t think he’d have had the guts to walk through the entranceway. “The first time I was here, I was kind of afraid to touch anything.”

“I feel like I should use my indoor voice. You know, church voice?” Patrick was already doing it, speaking in a hushed tone that seemed appropriate to the surroundings.

Vin knocked their shoulders together as they waited for the elevator. “It’s just an apartment building.”

“Yeah, but it’s so upper-class.”

“I got lucky with Riley,” Vin said.

“
He
got lucky. I hope he knows it.”

The elevator arrived in a smooth, silent rush, and they got in. The walls were mirrored, the floor carpeted in dark gray with a discreet pattern of red squiggles. Patrick automatically checked his reflection. He’d gone for a sprayin, wash-out silver on his hair and ice-blue contacts. Red and green was too obvious a choice this close to Christmas. He wanted to stand out. His winter-white jeans qualified as spray-on too, and he’d finished off his outfit with a thrift store
My Little Pony
T-shirt. The brand-new, artificially aged ones in the stores were so fake, but he adored this one, featuring Firefly and the slogan
I disagree with you, but we can still be friends!
He’d added
when you admit I’m right
across the back in permanent marker, because what kind of message did the front send?

“Well?” he prodded. “Does he?”

Vin shrugged. “If I say he does, it sounds like I’m patting myself on the back.”

“Like this?” He suited action to words, making the pats hard enough that Vin turned to fend him off, grinning again. The lurch as the elevator stopped was barely noticeable, but off balance as they were, it had them grabbing at each other to stay upright.

Awkward to have Riley waiting outside the elevator ready to greet them, but they weren’t even hugging, let alone sharing a lip-lock, so why Riley was glaring at him, Patrick didn’t know.

“Still snowing, I take it?” Riley’s eyes softened as he looked at Vin, then brushed lingering snowflakes from his hair.

“Yeah. Not too much. I don’t think the roads will be too bad later.” Vin stepped in and kissed Riley; the look Riley gave Patrick as he pulled back was triumphant, like he’d won some unspoken competition between them.

Patrick wasn’t that stupid. He couldn’t lose a competition he knew better than to enter in the first place. “Hi, Riley. Thanks for letting me come.”

“The more the merrier,” Riley said.

He led them to his door, which was cracked open, the sound of voices and music from within bleeding out into the hallway.

“Let me introduce you around.” It seemed like more of an offer to Vin than the both of them, but Patrick trailed along anyway, shaking hands and repeating names in an attempt to get them into his head.

“I’m going to get Vin a drink. You’ll be okay, won’t you?” Riley asked and took Vin off toward the kitchen before Patrick could answer.

“Hi! I’m Timothy.” Thank God for adorable, friendly guys who were willing to glomp on to complete strangers. “How do you know Riley?”

“My best friend is dating him,” Patrick said.

Timothy nodded. He was taller than Patrick, and skinny, but with the wide shoulders and wrists that meant in a few years he’d fill out. “I’m a friend of a friend. He seems cool, though. I like his place.”

“Not sure I do,” Patrick said, then heard how it sounded and tried to explain. “It’s a little too nice. Makes me nervous I might spill something on his couch and incur his wrath.”

“He doesn’t seem like the wrathy kind.”

Tired of talking about Riley—it’d been a whole ninety seconds at
least
—Patrick tapped the bottle of beer Timothy was drinking from, noting it was strong and expensive, produced by a local brewery. They sold them at the Peg, and this one, a Christmas special featuring a hint of cranberry, was meant to be drunk from a glass. “So who do I have to blow to get a drink?”

He’d been prepared to bring along something to drink for the evening, plus a grudgingly given bottle of wine for his host, but Vin had nixed that idea.
“He said not to bother for either of us, and he meant it. There’ll be plenty there, so help yourself.”

Timothy turned a charming shade of pink. “Um, there’s a bar in the corner over there for the liquor, and the beer and wine’s in the kitchen. I don’t think you have to do anything but know how to use a bottle opener.”

Sweet, but dim and unimaginative. Oh well. After promising to be right back—though the glint of alarm in Timothy’s eyes made him wonder if they’d spend the rest of the night avoiding each other—Patrick drifted over to the bar. Nice selection of the basics, plenty of mixers on ice, and a few bottles with an inch missing that were probably years old and only taken out at parties like this because no one knew what to do with them.

He pursed his lips. So what could he do with them? He picked up a stainless steel cocktail shaker, filled it with ice, and reached for the Bombay Sapphire because the bottle matched his eyes.

“You look like a man who knows what he’s doing.”

The husky drawl was attractive, but when Patrick turned his head, he saw the man who’d spoken had his arm around a pretty girl, her long red hair falling sleek and shiny down her back. Expensive hair. Expensive dress. And he’d have bet a week’s pay every stitch the man was wearing was designer.

“Is that so. And what do I look like I’m doing?” Oops.
Don’t flirt with the straight guy.
And he wasn’t that special to look at, but that voice was killer. Patrick smiled at both of them, ready to be friendly.

“You look like you’re going to mix us a drink. Gin and tonic for me and a Zombie for her.” The man snapped his fingers, or tried to. He covered up his inability to coordinate with a brusque, “Chop-chop. The lady’s thirsty.”

Patrick’s smile faded. His chin came up with a jerk that hurt his neck. “Excuse me?”

“Riley pointed you out. Said you were the bartender. Are you going to make us a drink, or do I have to tell him he hired the wrong guy?”

“Oh, you don’t need to tell him anything. I’ll do that myself.” Patrick set the shaker down. “And FYI, I’m a guest here, not the hired help, and do you even know what’s in a Zombie? Because you’re not going to make one from what’s here.” He waved at the bottles. “I mean, do you see any Velvet Falernum? Do you? No. So you’re not going to get a Zombie, and if that was your plan to get laid, you’re going to need a better one.”