Page 88 of Filthy Little Secret

“Why don’t you get us set up at one of the pool tables before the guys get here?”

“Okay.”

I’m irritated with how willing this guy is to be told what to do. How he submissively obeys Greg’s command. Save that shit for the bedroom.

Greg slides onto the stool in front of me.

“How’s Mark?” he asks.

“Good. Real good.”

As I start mixing their drinks, Greg says, “So the drug industry didn’t work out for you? I didn’t realize there was a big turnover? I can’t imagine demand was an issue. Did you piss someone off?”

“Nope. Just wasn’t for me.”

“You seemed to fit the bill pretty well.”

“I wanted a little more out of life.”

I mean Mark, but I’m not going to rub that in Greg’s face. I already won by getting to have the best boyfriend in the world.

“Mark, you mean?” he says.

His lips twist into a smirk, and he eyes me skeptically, as though he can’t understand what I could be talking about.

“You chose this for Mark?” he asks.

“I’d choose worse for Mark.”

He’s silent. My answer must’ve surprised him.

“Because he deserves it,” I add.

“If you insist.”

“He deserved better than what you did to him.”

“Who’s an ex-druggie to be self-righteous about shit?”

“At least I knew what I was. Do you know what you are?”

“Why don’t you tell me what you think I am?” he asks.

“A spoiled rich kid who’s so used to getting shiny new things that he’ll keep finding something new and better everywhere he looks, and he won’t be happy…ever.”

I add straws to their cocktails before setting them on the bar in front of Greg.

“I do like shiny things,” he says with a conceited grin. He turns and eyes Ryan as the guy sets up the rack at the pool table and waves at us.

Greg raises his glass to me and drinks before grabbing Ryan’s Long Island Iced Tea and heading over to the pool table. The place gets busy, and I end up mixing a lot of cocktails and taking some orders for food back to the kitchen. We don’t have much more than bar food—fried everything. I’m in the middle of making six vodka sodas when I catch something out of the corner of my eye at the end of the bar.

Mark leans over and checks my ass out, whistling loudly.

I raise my finger to let him know I’ll be free in a bit.

“Take your time, Timmy,” he says with a wink.

He’s more confident than when I first met him. He’s playful. Frisky. Fun.

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