Page 38 of Julien (Confessions 2)

You might’ve heard of him, Julien Thornton? He’s famous.

He’s opening a new restaurant next month.

Would you like to come?

Kill. Me. Now, Robbie thought. On the plus side, he hadn’t blurted out the fact that he was falling head over heels for Julien—and his husband.

With a sigh, he pushed open the door to The Popped Cherry and stepped inside. He scanned the empty high tops and booths, searching out his boss, and when he didn’t immediately see him, Robbie turned in the direction of the bar.

A full-on smile hit his lips when he spotted the familiar head of curls in The Popped Cherry uniform, as Tate Morrison wrote something down on the clipboard in front of him.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Mr. Morr—I’m sorry, Mr. Mitchell,” Robbie said, as he came up to the counter opposite Tate, who had now straightened to his full height. “Oh, that’s weird. Right?”

Tate chuckled as leaned up against the bar and twirled the pen around his fingers. “It’s weird, that’s for sure. But in a good way.”

“Duh,” Robbie said, and rolled his eyes. “Of course it’s in a good way. You married Logan. How could that be bad?”

“True,” Tate said, and grinned, his teeth nice and bright against the extra-tanned complexion he was currently sporting.

He had the same olive tone that Julien had, and that suddenly got Robbie wondering if this was the same shade Julien’s skin would turn if they spent a week or two on an island.

“But let’s not tell him that. His head’s big enough as it is.”

“Don’t I know it,” Robbie said, and unbuckled his coat. “Did he tell you that I saw him the other day?” Tate was about to answer when Robbie paused in shrugging out of one of his sleeves and said, “What am I talking about? Of course he told you. But did he also tell you what a gigantic douche he was?”

Tate rubbed a hand over the dark stubble covering his chin and laughed. “He didn’t quite put it like that. But he did mention you two had an interesting chat.”

“Interesting my ass. He was a jerk.” Robbie shook his head and laid his coat over the bar top as he took a seat on one of the stools. “I’ve never seen him lose his brain quite that spectacularly.”

Tate shrugged. “Maybe you should take it as a compliment? Logan only loses his brain if he cares.”

“Yeah, well, I worked that out afterward. But wow, I thought he was going to punch Priest in the face.”

Tate crossed his arms over his chest and eyed Robbie with a look that wasn’t judgmental in any way, more curious, and before he could speak, Robbie said, “I know what you’re thinking.”

“I bet you don’t,” Tate said. “But before we get into that, do you want anything to drink?”

“I assume you mean something without alcohol in it?”

“Very funny.”

“Okay. A Coke? Oh, and while we’re chatting, do you think I’d be able to swap my shift next weekend? I have to go out of town for something important and I’m scheduled,” Robbie said, and kept his eye on Tate as he moved around behind the bar, grabbed a glass with ice, and filled it with one of the soda guns.

After he slid it across the counter, Robbie popped a straw in the fizzing drink and took a sip. The sweet flavor hit his tongue and he swallowed it down, and then he pushed the glass aside to look at Tate, who was now standing silently, watching him.

“Yeah, we can switch your shifts. Maybe Bianca can pick it up, or Alex. Is everything all right?”

“Yes. I mean, no. I’m all right, but someone I know isn’t, and, uh, I want to be with them next weekend.”

Tate’s eyes narrowed on the word them, and Robbie wanted to kick himself in the ass. Way to go, Bianchi, on shoving your foot in your mouth. First asking about one person and then saying them. Ugh, I have to get better at this. But just as Robbie suspected, Tate didn’t push for details.

Robbie twirled the straw around in his glass, making the ice clink against the sides, and then let out an exasperated sigh. “Oh, whatever you’re thinking, just say it. The silence is almost worse than Logan’s rant.”

Tate picked up the pen that he’d put down on the clipboard and clicked the end of it. Once. Then twice. And then he said something that had Robbie close to falling off his stool.

“I’m happy for you.”

Robbie was convinced his jaw must’ve hit the counter, because holy shit, that was the last thing he’d expected to come out of Tate’s mouth.

Like, the very last.

“Wait…what?”

“I’m happy for you,” Tate said again, and this time his lips pulled into a smug smile and he added, “I’m also happy for me. You’re finally obsessed with someone other than Logan.”

---