Page 35 of Bassist With Benefits
“I’m impressed,” Alan leaned over to read the bartender’s nametag, “Randy.”
The bartender laid out three shot glasses and seamlessly filled them with his special potion. He handed one to Alan, one to Jeremy, and took the third one for himself. “To Bulletproof,” Randy said, raising his shot glass.
“To Bulletproof,” Alan and Jeremy each repeated.
Alan didn’t know what to expect from the cherry-colored drink that contained several different liquors, but it went down smoother than expected. The fruity element sweetened the burn, but the kick after he swallowed made his eyes open wide. “Woo! That was damn fucking good.”
Jeremy held out his shot glass for a refill. “Keep ‘em coming.”
“What do you call this?” Alan asked after he downed the second shot.
“Satan’s Helper,” the bartender replied. “Because it’s the devil’s work.”
Alan chuckled. “Does that make you the devil?”
“Some would say so, but the fruit juice is the real devil here. It softens the harshness of the liquor. Careful,” Randy warned when Alan offered his glass for a refill. “These things sneak up on you.”
After the third or fourth or fifth shot – Alan couldn’t remember how many he’d already consumed – a fog filled his head and his lids felt heavy, but he wore a happy smile. “I feel like I just smoked a bowl of hash.” He laughed at the comparison. He hadn’t smoked hash since his teens. Was hash still an available drug or had it faded away in favor of opiates like heroine?
Jeremy’s laughter broke through Alan’s thoughts about the marketability of drugs on the street today. “What’s so funny?” Alan asked.
“You! Man, you’re spacing out like you’re on another planet.” Jeremy’s glazed eyes weren’t open much wider than Alan’s, and his speech had a noticeable slur.
“These things are killer.” Alan presented his empty glass to the bartender, but the familiar face was gone. “Who are you? What happened to Randy?”
“I’m right here.” Randy stood behind Alan, without his black jacket, but he retained his black pants and a solid black T-shirt. He raised the silver pitcher he held in his hand. “I’m off. I thought I’d join you two for a few drinks. Or whatever.”
The “whatever” part caused Alan and Jeremy to exchange a glance, knowing exactly what it meant.
Randy filled their glasses with another round and made another toast to Bulletproof.
“You know our music?” Alan asked.
“Of course I know who you are. You’re Alan Delgado and he’s Jeremy Kagan. I’m a huge fan.” He presented a provocative smile. “Of more than just your music. What do you say we finish this batch of Satan’s Helper somewhere a little less crowded?” He stepped between Alan and Jeremy. “I really want to be part of one of those famous threesomes you two are known for.”
A tingle ran up Alan’s spine. And across his forehead. And over the top of his head. He contemplated Randy’s offer with a thoughtful expression, and his brows suddenly furrowed. He wanted to go back to the hotel with Jeremy – alone.
A set of lips on Alan’s neck sent goosebumps across his shoulders. But they weren’t Jeremy’s lips, they were Randy’s. A second later, a flavorful tongue lapped at his mouth. Now Randy’s lips were on Jeremy, who looked just as surprised as Alan had been at the unexpected kiss from the bartender. A knot twisted in Alan’s stomach as he watched. Jealousy was a little voice in his head, reminding him that things were different now. His best friend was now his lover. He wondered if Jeremy felt the same way, but he couldn’t detect anything either way.
Randy looped one arm through Alan’s and one arm through Jeremy’s and led them through the crowd. Alan followed, mainly because the alcohol had him piss drunk at that point, and because Jeremy seemed to be going along with the idea of a threesome.
As Randy stepped in front of them to open the door to exit the ballroom, Jeremy paused. “Are we really going through with this?” he asked Alan.
The bit of hesitation meant that Jeremy had the same doubts about continuing with the threesome, and it made Alan smile. “Are we married now?” he teased.
“No.” Jeremy smiled back and nudged Alan with his shoulder.
In a matter of seconds, the three of them were on the elevator on their way to the ground floor to head back to their hotel.
Randy’s hands were on Alan’s chest, hot and sweaty, and an erection hit Alan in the groin. Shit. He didn’t want to bring Randy back to their suite, and his inebriated brain struggled for an excuse to lose the pushy bartender.
“Get behind me,” Randy told Jeremy over his shoulder. “I want to be the meat in your sandwich.”
Jeremy locked eyes with Alan as he stepped forward.
Forgetting there was a man between them, ignoring whatever the hell Randy was whispering in Alan’s ear, Alan’s eyes dropped to Jeremy’s lips.
Jeremy leaned over Randy’s shoulder and smashed his mouth against Alan’s. His feverish tongue, demanding and forceful, claimed Alan’s mouth.
