Page 33 of Wrecked

“Wait…what?” Crow frowned, tucking away his phone in the breast pocket of his suit. “You worked there a week before you were benched.”

“Savage said I wasn’t ready for any job until he trusted me.”

Crow frowned. “I’m sure his intentions were good.”

“Maybe. I told him to fuck off and walked out.” Rebel turned to gaze out the car window.

Crow was at a loss for words so he stayed silent.

Crow found a decent spot in their hotel lounge and slid into the booth next to Rebel.

“I love your suit.” Rebel ran his gaze over him, sending warmth deep into Crow’s gut.

“Wait until you see the one I wear tomorrow,” Crow said and there was a promise in his voice that made Rebel flush.

As the waitress approached, Rebel touched the top of his hand and whispered. “I can’t drink.”

“Isn’t that a fake ID in your wallet?” Crow smirked and barely refrained from linking their fingers.

Rebel eyed him and then snorted. “Yes, and a very good one at that.”

“I know, I checked it out.”

“You seriously don’t mind if I drink at eighteen?”

“I’m not your parent.” Crow scowled.

“Okay,” Rebel laughed and the sound caught Crow off guard.

He was sure he’d heard Rebel’s laughter before, but not this particular tone. It sounded like honey and kisses and all kinds of shit he shouldn’t be thinking about.

Keeping them away from the hotel room upstairs had been for his own sanity.

The waitress made it to their table and Rebel ordered an alcoholic drink. Crow hid his smile and handed Rebel one of the food menus.

The only reason he wasn’t making a big deal about Rebel’s underage drinking was because he was right there by the younger man’s side.

“I need to see your ID,” the waitress said and looked the card over when Rebel handed it to her. “Thanks, hon.” She handed it back.

“I’ll just have a beer on tap,” Crow said.

“Ew, I hate beer.”

The woman smiled and moved on to the next table.

“You’re lucky that ID worked,” Crow said with an amused whisper.

“Of course, it worked,” Rebel said and laughed.

The lounge grew noisy at around nine o’clock and people started dancing.

Rebel had already finished his drink and was taking sips from Crow’s second glass of beer.

“Be careful. Vodka soda doesn’t really go with beer,” Crow warned.

“I don’t care,” Rebel announced and got up on his knees in the booth. With elbows resting on the seat, Rebel bobbed to the beat of the band.

Turned sideways a bit, Crow ran his gaze over the man’s slender frame, the happy smile on Rebel’s face, and the way the new clothes fit his body perfectly.

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