Page 13 of Provoking the Punter

Maybe if Garrett hadn’t gone out for a few drinks with some of the other guys, he wouldn’t have been tempted to continue the celebration a little more privately. But it had been a while, and he needed a release, and to be with someone, even if it was only for long enough for them to get what they wanted.

How much did he say to a man who seemed to see right through him?

“Alcohol was involved. I’m sure you’ve read the official statement.” He was sick of repeating himself. Fortunately, no one at the dinner had tried to dig out the truth.

“I did. Would you like to see the distillery?” It sounded like an innocent offer, but Chester’s voice made it sound closer to “Do you want to see my bed?”

He could plead that it was late, and he should go because he had to be at the training facility by eight. He had extra work to do, even though Tuesday was usually a day off. If he asked for a raincheck, would Chester make the offer again? And while he didn’t give a rat’s ass about the distillery, he wasn’t ready to walk away, either.

Mostly because he liked the way Chester looked at him. Like he was about to back Garrett against a wall and whisper what he planned on doing to him.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at him like that while they both had their clothes on. It had been back in Australia.

“Come on then.” Chester’s hand lifted as if for a moment he expected Garrett to take it. If there hadn’t been people moving around and cleaning up, he might have. Chester gave him that all-knowing smile again.

It felt as though Chester had ripped open his suit, cracked open his ribs, and peered inside to find the secrets Garrett didn’t want to talk about. Yet, Garrett hadn’t physically felt a single touch. He should be worried, but he wanted to know what Chester had found and what it meant.

How had Chester read him so easily? What did Garrett need to fix to not be read so easily?

They walked through the restaurant, past the door that led to the bar, which was still in full swing, and then along a corridor. If Chester was taking him to his office because he wanted to do less talking, Garrett wasn’t sure he’d be able to say no.

When was the last time he acted on attraction instead of making do with whatever was on offer? It was a battle he shouldn’t need to fight. And if he’d picked any other career—or hadn’t made a mistake he never wanted to repeat—it wouldn’t have mattered.

Chester opened a door and flicked on some lights. Standing in the distillery reminded him of chemistry classes but on a bigger, industrial scale. All metal and glass and polished concrete floors.

“We run classes, so people can make their own flavors. This area is sometimes used as a function room. Making your own gin is a popular activity that gives people something to do. That said, hens’ nights are the absolute worst.”

“Not bucks nights?”

“No, because they don’t pretend that they’re here to do anything but drink. Those happen in the front bar.” Chester opened a wooden box. “I’m always playing around with different ideas. Ordering new flavors. This is the standard box we use for the class.”

“You know I’m not going to be doing any classes, right?”

Chester watched him with a hooded gaze and his lips curved as if he was amused. “I’m giving you time to relax and ask some questions, so then I can ask you some more personal questions, and we can get to know each other.”

Garrett wanted to say he wasn’t interested. That he wasn’t gay. But he couldn’t. Because Chester looked at him as though Garrett was a new and exciting flavor that he wanted to taste, and bottle, and sell.

Garrett swallowed and studied the drink in his hand. Should he admit it? Or should he ask, how did you know? The words wouldn’t form. “How did you get started with all of this? And I don’t mean buying the bar down the road before eventually upgrading.”

“I still own my first bar.” He winked at Garrett as he closed the box lid. “My father made his money making and selling moonshine and selling scrap metal. Liquor was in my blood the day I was born.”

“He must be proud of you.” Garrett had no idea what that felt like.

Chester leaned against the bar and laughed. He put his hand over his heart and shook his head. “I am the epitome of everything he hates. I’m educated and successful.”

His tongue flicked over the ball of the piercing in the center of his lip, and Garrett couldn’t look away. He wanted to lean in and run his tongue over it…

Chester’s fingers brushed Garrett’s suit-covered arm. “What about you? The unofficial version.”

“Unofficially, my mother was killed in a car accident. I missed a crucial year of playing Aussie rules. I finished high school with the grades to go to uni… college… but I didn’t know what I wanted to do, so I took a gap year. I played on one of the local teams, hoping for a chance to be drafted.” Garrett finished his drink. He was leaving out big chunks, but he didn’t share them with anyone. No one needed to hear the whole truth. “I was watching the Super Bowl with a few friends, and one of the guys playing was Australian. I looked him up and thought if he can do it, I can do it.” That part of his official story was true.

“And you did.”

“I don't have a ring.” The ring didn’t matter that much to him, even though it should. If it was a choice between playing for three years and getting a ring or playing for ten years and not having one, he knew which he’d choose. That was something else he didn’t share because no one would understand.

“Would you like another one?” This time, Chester’s touch lingered a little longer on his arm.

Garrett swallowed and stared at his empty glass. He should leave, but he wanted to stay. All the promises he’d made himself melted away.

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