Made to Order by Brigham Vaughn

FOUR

Tyler settled the weight back in the rack, sweat dripping from his body.

“Nice, dude.”

His gaze flicked to Leo on the bench beside him. “Thanks. It was a good workout.” Tyler mopped at his face with his towel and slung it over his shoulder as he stood with a groan. “Need me to spot you?”

“Nah, I’m good. I think I might have overdone it on chest presses yesterday so I’m trying to take it easy today, bro.”

“Cool, man. See you tomorrow?”

“Sure thing.” Leo held out a fist for him to bump.

Tyler hit the gym in the late afternoon most days, so he was a regular around here. He and Leo had never hung out any other time, but he was a good gym buddy.

Tyler sprayed disinfectant on the bench he’d been using as Leo stretched out on one nearby to do decline sit-ups. Tyler wiped the surface absently as his gaze drifted over to where Leo’s shirt slid up, exposing several inches of his toned abs.

Nope, nothing.

Tyler had wondered if it was desperation that had led his wandering thoughts toward Donovan a few weeks back, but there were plenty of guys at the gym with fit bodies and none of them made him look twice.

But Donovan Ryan, who drove him absolutely insane, somehow did.

Tyler gave the bench one last aggravated scrub, then tossed the paper towel in the trash. He walked to the locker room, catching a glimpse of a woman in a crop top and leggings. His gaze slid across her as quickly as it landed, the way he’d done with Leo. The way he’d done with everyone lately.

Except the asshole he worked with.

So, maybe not desperation. Tyler still didn’t know what it was though, and it was driving him nuts.

After he got home, he mentally reviewed what he had to do before he left for work. He’d gotten up early this morning to tackle chores at his parents’ place, though he hadn’t even come close to finishing the list he’d made. He still needed to shower and have a bite to eat before he headed into the tavern too.

He sighed as he thought more about his love life. It was pretty fucking sad that his hand was his best companion these days. It was hard to meet people, working the shifts he did. Other bartenders were a good bet but there was no way he was going to hook up with anyone on his staff at the tavern. He’d heard way too many horror stories from the women who worked for him about sleezy bosses at other bars to ever want to go there.

No, dating the people he managed was completely out of the question.

For a while, a few years back, he’d had a thing with a nurse at the local hospital. Her midnight shifts had meshed pretty well with his and they’d hooked up when her kids were at their dad’s house.

They’d gotten pretty kinky too, although something had always felt a little off between them. It didn’t help that she always wanted him to be in charge.

Hey, he got it. High-stress job—she just wanted a chance to unwind and not have to make a decision about anything—but damn, sometimes he just needed the same thing. He’d love to come home and not have to deal with it all too.

And the one other kinky woman he’d gotten involved with had been a little too far into it. The rough sex had been nice, but she’d started talking about him wearing lingerie and heels and crawling around the floor to kiss her boots while she called him a sissy and … no. Not his bag.

Tyler was pretty open-minded about trying new things, but he had a line.

And these days, he just didn’t have the time to date.

The most intensely sexual thing he’d done lately was eat Donovan’s wild mushroom fettuccine last night. Tyler could still feel it on his tongue, the thick creamy sauce and slippery pasta. So good he’d gotten bread to mop up every last bit of the sauce and licked his fork clean.

He’d caught Donovan eyeing him with an amused smirk and went hot under the collar. But hey, it was damn good. Donovan should take it as a compliment.

But it was still pretty fucking sad if that was the best he could manage these days.

* * *

Tyler’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Fuck. Another one. He surreptitiously slipped it out and glanced quickly at the screen. Eddie again. Fuck. This was happening way too frequently.

“Phone out, boss?” Lacey eyeballed him, a twinkle in her gaze as she flipped her dirty-blonde hair over her shoulder. “Thought that wasn’t allowed.”

“It’s not.” He grimaced and stuffed it in his pocket again. “But I’m a little bit of a hypocrite sometimes.”

She chuckled. “We all are.”

Still, Tyler ducked out as soon as he could take a break and made a beeline for the back door. He hit dial as soon as it closed behind him.

Eddie picked up immediately. “There you are, man.”

“Eddie. What’s going on?” His stomach knotted with worry.

“Nothing. Just wanted to talk.”

Tonight was a good night. Eddie was drunk, but it was still the early stages. Where he’d reminisce about the stupid shit they’d done together. Where he was happy and not weepy.

Tyler was no closer to knowing what to do about him. He’d gotten another drunk call from Eddie last week. Andrea and the kids were back home. For now.

Tyler had been too busy to make the trip up to Grand Rapids and guilt nagged at him. My next day off, he promised himself.

Oh wait, that was tomorrow. He stifled a groan. He’d promised his dad he’d mow his lawn. And he needed to catch up on sleep. Fuuuuck.

“I’m on my break so I can’t talk long,” he warned Eddie.

“I was just thinking about that time we went white water rafting, man. That was fucking awesome.”

“It was,” Tyler agreed, his shoulders loosening a little as he leaned against the table in the break area. “We had a great trip.”

“And we did the bungee jumping off the bridge.”

“I remember.” Tyler smiled. Fuck, that whole trip had been wild. Tyler, Eddie, and a couple of guys from their platoon had driven down to West Virginia for a crazy weekend of adrenaline-fueled adventure. Together, their motto had always been, ‘If it doesn’t scare the shit out of you, it isn’t worth doing.’

They’d done a lot of things that weekend that had scared the shit out of them. And they’d had a blast.

That was the last memory Tyler had of all of them together.

“I miss those days,” he admitted, feeling a lump in his throat.

“We should do it again, man.”

“Yeah.” But it would never be the same. They weren’t the same guys they’d been twelve years ago. Rafe and Frenchie were dead now and Eddie … well, Eddie was struggling.

If Tyler thought it would help, he’d ask Rachael for some time off and take Eddie down there. But as bad as he was doing, Tyler wasn’t sure they’d both make it home. Eddie’s mental health and drinking troubles made him too much of a wild card these days. Doing risky stunts all in the name of recapturing their youth sounded like a suicide mission.

“I’ll try to make it up to GR soon,” Tyler said instead. “We can talk more then.”

“I’d like that.”

“You hang in there, okay?” Tyler asked. “I know it’s been rough but …”

“I’m trying.” Eddie drew in a ragged breath. “Some days it just feels like my head is so full, man. There’s just all this extra shit cluttering it up and I can’t …I can’t make it stop.”

“Is that why you drink so much?”

There was irony there, the bartender worried about a guy drinking too much. But it was one thing to throw back a cocktail or two with friends in celebration and another to drink yourself into oblivion to numb yourself out.

He’d done a bit of numbing out when he got home too but thankfully it had never been out of control and now, he only drank occasionally.

“Yeah. It helps, you know.”

“It’s just a temporary fix, you know that, right?” Tyler said softly. “It isn’t—”

“I know.” Eddie sounded on the verge of tears now. “I know, but what else can I do? It won’t stop.”

Shit. Tyler had tipped Eddie from happy drunk to sad drunk. He should have kept his fucking mouth shut. “We’ll do something wild when we get together, I promise,” he said.

Eddie probably wouldn’t even remember this when he woke up in the morning.

“Yeah, okay.”

“You take care of yourself, okay?” Tyler said.

“Okay. You too. Thanks for being here for me.” His words were beginning to slur.

“Always,” Tyler promised. “Give Andrea and the kids my love.”

After they said their goodbyes and Tyler hung up the phone, he typed out a message to one of the group chats. There was one conversation with all the guys and another one with everyone except Eddie. It always made Tyler feel vaguely guilty, talking about Eddie behind his back, but he didn’t know what else to do.

He typed out a text and sent the message to Jackson, Hayes, and Gordo.

Hewitt: Hey, have you talked to Eddie much lately?

Jackson answered almost immediately.

Jackson: Yeah. Rarely when he’s sober. Been gettin’ a lot of late-night phone calls.

Hewitt: Same. It’s been bad lately, hasn’t it?

Jackson: Yeah.

Hewitt: What the fuck do we do?

Jackson: If I knew, I’d already be doing it. Any of us would.

Tyler sighed. It was true. If any of them had figured out a magic solution, they’d have done it long before now.

With a heavy sigh, Tyler set his phone on the table beside him. He needed to get back to work. As manager, he had leeway, but he knew how hard his staff busted ass and he always wanted to set a good example. He was just so goddamn tired.

Eventually, he mustered up the energy to stand. He punched in the key code on the door, but when he opened it, Donovan was on the other side, hand poised in midair.

“Oh, sorry,” they both said, nearly in unison.

“Just finishing up my break,” Tyler said, feeling awkward. Lately, he’d been thinking about Donovan and the way his muscles played under his shirt a hell of a lot more than he knew what to do with.

“Yeah, I was just coming out for one. Kitchen’s closed so I figured it was a good time to get some air.”

Tyler was aware of how close they stood. Donovan had been doing that a lot lately, or at least that was how it seemed. Any time they interacted he was close, crowding into Tyler’s personal space. Or maybe Tyler was just more aware of it now.

Whatever it was, it sent a strange feeling skittering over his skin. It was like the hair on his arms rose every time Donovan stepped near or used that bossy tone. Seriously weird.

Donovan tilted his head and looked down at him. He was a few inches taller than Tyler to begin with but right now, with Tyler on the ground outside and Donovan on the step above, Tyler had to crane his neck to look up at him. It made him feel small. And he wasn’t a small guy. He shrugged, trying to get rid of the strange feeling crawling across his back.

“Are you okay?” Donovan asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Tyler said automatically.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure I’m sure,” he snapped.

Donovan held up his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to intrude, you just looked … upset or something.”

Tyler hesitated, staring at Donovan’s chest in his black T-shirt. He’d taken off his chef’s coat and it looked like he’d been sweating. The fabric clung to his skin, molding across it to reveal some surprisingly nice pecs. Tyler had a sudden and almost overwhelming urge to press his palm against Donovan’s chest.

“A friend’s going through some stuff and I’m worried,” Tyler admitted, gaze still glued to Donovan’s body.

“Ahh. I’m sorry about your friend.”

Tyler glanced up. The lights in the hallway were brighter than the lights outside and it was hard to see Donovan’s face. But there had been real, genuine sympathy in his voice.

“Thanks.” Tyler’s mouth felt dry all of a sudden and he licked his lips.

Donovan’s gaze flashed down to his mouth as a weird tension filled the air.

“I should, uh, get back to the bar,” Tyler said.

“Right. I should take my break.”

But they both stood there a moment, staring at each other.

Donovan cleared his throat and stepped back, letting Tyler into the building. Tyler’s shoulder brushed his chest as he passed. He jerked at the feel of Donovan’s warm hand on his arm. He looked down at it, the long, pale fingers slightly rough against his skin.

“If you ever need anything, I’m here,” Donovan said.

Tyler glanced up. “I’m fine. Thanks.” The words came out brusquer than he’d intended. “I know you don’t seem to think I can handle my job here or, apparently, my personal life, but I’m perfectly capable of managing.”

Donovan looked taken aback. “I wasn’t implying—”

Tyler shrugged off his hand and walked forward, feeling strangely unsettled. His heart beat too fast and the phantom heat from Donovan’s hand against his skin lingered.

Weirdest of all, his cock had thickened behind the fly of his jeans. What the fuck?

* * *

Several hours later, Tyler gave the bar one final glance and shut off the lights. The restaurant side was dim too, though there was light in the hall, meaning someone was still here. Donovan, probably. Usually, he was gone by the time Tyler wrapped up—kitchen service ended a couple of hours before the bar closed—but Donovan never left until every last thing in the kitchen was clean and in its precise spot, ready for the following day. If nothing else, Tyler did have to admire the guy’s work ethic.

Tyler just wished he understood why he found him so damn unsettling otherwise.

As he passed the door of Donovan’s office, he slowed to a stop without conscious thought, his gaze drawn to the view inside. The door was open maybe a quarter of the way, and Tyler caught a glimpse of Donovan’s bare back as he slipped his shirt off and tossed it into a hamper.

He has ink. And he’s fit.

Tyler had no idea why it mattered. Sure, maybe Donovan was in better shape than Tyler had anticipated. He looked skinny in his chef’s uniform or dressed casually. But he had lean, defined muscles. Strong, the kind that were functional, not just vanity muscles, like some of the muscle-bound dudes at the gym Tyler went to who didn’t care if they could actually lift a couch without fucking up their back, just that they had an eight pack.

Freckles covered every inch of Donovan’s body but they somehow worked with the mostly black ink he had scattered across his back and arms. Tyler liked ink. He liked it on himself, he liked it on the women he dated, and he’d admired it on some guys before. Not in a sexual way, just kind of a “hey man, nice ink” thing but this was more than an urge to check out some art.

He’d noticed the tattoos on Donovan’s arms of course, but he hadn’t known the ink extended to his back. Or how good they would make Donovan’s shoulders look.

Red hair, freckles—they were not Tyler’s thing, damn it—but Donovan made them look better than he had any right to. Now, Donovan hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his uniform pants and pushed them down.

I really, really should look away, Tyler thought. But Jesus.

Donovan had those little dimples on his lower back and his snug black underwear hugged his ass just right, showing off his full glutes. But why did Tyler care? He’d never checked out a guy’s ass before. Ever.

Donovan turned to reach for a set of clothes draped over a nearby chair. Tyler stepped back, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to hide, but it was too late. Donovan made eye contact, smirking as he slipped on a pair of jeans. There was something so intense in his gaze that Tyler felt pinned in place as Donovan stalked over to the door and pulled it open wide, his jeans snug enough to stay up without being buttoned or zipped.

“Enjoying the show, Tyler?”

He forced a look of indifference onto his face. “I’ve seen better.”

Donovan snickered, his gaze flicking up and down Tyler’s body. “Your cock says otherwise.”

Tyler glanced down automatically to see his dick, clearly visible through the denim of his jeans. He was hard. Jesus. Why am I hard?

“Shit happens when you’re desperate,” Tyler said coolly. “I learned that in the sandbox.”

Donovan stalked toward him, still shirtless. “I could work with that. I don’t like you but that might make it more fun. Problem is, I don’t think you’re into what I like.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t play nice,” Donovan said.

Tyler squared his shoulders. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, I play with the big boys.” Donovan’s smile was condescending. “And I don’t think you can handle that.”

Tyler crossed his arms over his chest, knowing it would make the thin material strain over his muscles. Damn it, not even a flicker in Donovan’s expression. “I’m not big enough for you?”

“Oh, not like that. I enjoy a good muscle jock on his knees as much as the next guy.”

“Fuck if I’d ever get on my knees for a guy. Especially you.”

There was an answering flash of heat in Donovan’s eyes.

God, why was Tyler goading him like this? He didn’t even like Donovan. Or find him attractive. His stomach twisted at that little lie. Fine, he was attractive. But it wasn’t like Tyler was going to drop to his knees and suck the guy off. Though that was a mental image that wasn’t going to leave his head any time soon.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

“Well, I don’t play with men who claim to be straight,” Donovan replied coolly. “And I don’t play with men who wouldn’t know a whip from a flogger.”

Tyler blinked. “You’re into kink?”

“Yes.” Donovan pointed to some ink on his bare hip. A black and white circle that reminded him a bit of a yin-yang symbol except with three little swirls instead of two. “The BDSM triskelion. I’ve been involved in the lifestyle for years.”

“Huh.”

Donovan’s gaze flicked over him, assessing. “Do you know it?”

“The symbol? No. I’m not really in the community at all. I do know a whip from a flogger though.”

Donovan nodded. “I’m guessing you’re used to being on the other end of it.”

“Yeah.” Tyler shrugged. “Before I enlisted, I had a girlfriend who was into it. Nothing too extreme. We were barely out of high school at the time really and were only playing around, but she enjoyed some choking. Some spanking. I got a little more into it when I got out, but it’s not like a regular thing. I don’t go to the munchies or whatever you people call them.”

“Munches,” Donovan said. “Stupid name but that’s beside the point.”

Tyler shrugged. “I’m just saying, I do my kink thing in private. I don’t need to make friends who are into the same stuff.”

“Socializing notwithstanding, you’ve never been on the other side of it? With anyone?”

“No. An ex tried but I wasn’t into wearing lingerie and licking her boots and shit. You?”

Donovan let out a little huff. “No. I don’t bottom.”

“Isn’t something up your ass supposed to feel good?”

Not that Tyler’d ever had more than a couple of fingers in him—women’s fingers at that—because he’d turned down the woman offering to peg him. But he damn well wasn’t going to bring that up to Donovan.

“Not that.” Donovan’s tone was scornful. “I enjoy ass play. I mean the kink term. Submitting to someone else.”

Tyler laughed. “Yeah, no. Like I said, I don’t submit to anyone.” Except that one time, before the woman he was hooking up with had made it weird, he’d been kinda curious … Too bad it had felt all wrong with her.

“Shame.” Donovan’s gaze raked over him. “I can think of all sorts of things I’d enjoy doing to you.”

“Not my scene,” Tyler said automatically. But Jesus, he was still picturing Donovan feeding him his dick and that was a crazy hot mental image. He’d never sucked a cock in his life, only been on the receiving end of a blowjob, but there was something about the thought that made his mind whirl.

He suddenly wondered if Donovan was a fire crotch too. Based on the thin trail of hair that led from his navel into the top of his black pants, Tyler was sure he was. But why did he care? And why in the hell did he have a sudden desire to find out?

“Like I said, shame.” Donovan shrugged. “I bet I could turn you inside out and make you feel all sorts of things you’ve never experienced before.”

“I don’t even like you,” Tyler pointed out, trying to suppress a shudder at the mental images Donovan’s words created. “Why in the fuck would I let you do anything to me?”

“Because I think you’re more curious than you let on.” Donovan stepped closer and smirked at him. “I think a part of you might just wonder what it would be like to have another man take total control of you.”

“I’d have to respect him to let that happen,” Tyler said with a sneer. “So that’s out of the question.”

“Shame,” Donovan repeated with another shrug like he didn’t care at all. “Your loss.”

My loss, my ass.Tyler fumed as he turned and stalked out of the break room.

But the heavy, insistent throb of his cock made him wonder if maybe he was missing out.

* * *

Tyler scanned the bar, checking to make sure everything was fully supplied. He did inventory every two weeks and he’d stocked up the week prior, but Rachael was heading out of town tomorrow, so this was his last chance to make sure everything was set behind the bar before he checked on the kitchen.

And that was going to be a barrel of fun because things had been weird as hell with Donovan lately. After he’d been caught ogling Donovan, Tyler had thought about little else. He’d thought about what Donovan’s cock would look like. What it would taste like. What it would feel like on his tongue.

The weird thing was, he’d pictured himself all tied up and helpless while it happened.

And just thinking about it had made him come harder than he had in a while.

It was weird as fuck.

He didn’t understand it. He didn’t like it.

And Donovan had definitely been eyeing him differently lately.

Like he was sizing Tyler up and trying to figure out what made him tick. What he’d look like on his knees.

Tyler thought about the feel of closing his hand around a woman’s throat and pressing. Or slapping her upturned ass, watching it turn pink, listening to her cry out. He’d liked it a lot. But he’d also liked the feel of her fingernails digging into his back. That flash of pain had kept him in the moment, heightened everything. What would it be like to let someone else take charge of him in the bedroom?

He shuddered at the idea, but he wasn’t sure if it was fear or revulsion. Or a surge of lust.

Swallowing hard, he remembered being tucked behind the insulated shipping containers that served as their home away from home, Frenchie’s mouth on his cock, hot and wet as he worked Tyler over. His big rough hand, gripping the base of Tyler’s dick.

Would Donovan be rough like that? Or would he take his time? He seemed like the kind of guy who would go slow, just to torture Tyler.

What if he made Tyler beg?

The shiver that went up Tyler’s spine at that thought was one thing but the rush of blood to his dick was something else and Tyler had to close his eyes for a moment to get himself under control.

It was a weird fantasy, that was all. Not something he was going to do anything about.

Tyler wasn’t into men. Not like that.

He didn’t date them. He didn’t fuck them. What had happened overseas was one thing, but it was just a few moments of desperation a couple of times.

He wasn’t going to start dating guys. He wasn’t going to fantasize about Donovan. And he definitely, definitely wasn’t going to submit to him.

Tyler was going to be Donovan’s boss this week, in fact.

Tyler smiled at the thought.

* * *

Morning preparations were in full swing in the kitchen as Tyler stepped inside. Prep cooks were doing their thing, chopping vegetables, and simmering something on the stove that smelled like a little bit of heaven.

Donovan stood at his usual station, tall and imposing in his white jacket. Tyler would give him this, Donovan might be the boss of the kitchen, but he worked as hard as everyone else.

“Something I can do for you, Tyler?” Donovan asked without even looking up.

The words sounded weirdly formal and forced. Not like his usual snark.

“I just wanted to talk about plans for tonight. Make sure we’re on the same page about everything since Rachael is leaving this afternoon. If you can’t step away now, that’s okay, but I’d like to go over it”—he glanced at the clock—“within the next hour or so.”

Donovan nodded once, tightly. “Now’s fine.”

He set his knife down and unbuttoned his jacket. He hung it on a wall-mounted hook and stood in front of Tyler like a soldier waiting for inspection, with a ramrod straight back and closed-off expression. “Where would you like to do this?”

“Why don’t you just follow me into the bar?”

The servers were busy laying out place settings in the restaurant but the bar would be private enough. Nerves built in Tyler’s belly as he and Donovan walked across the space. It wasn’t like Rachael was in the tavern every day, so her being gone for a week shouldn’t have been such a big fucking deal, but with the entire weight of the business’s success resting on his shoulders, he felt weirdly nervous.

It was one thing to run the bar for the night, knowing he could call Rachael if he needed anything. But his goal was to not have to do that. She deserved the time away and the last thing he wanted was to make her vacation anything less than relaxing.

In the bar, he turned to face Donovan. The big open space was bright with sunshine streaming in the windows. It made Donovan’s hair even redder than usual. His beard was thick and full, neatly trimmed, and his hair was slicked back. Every inch the hipster chef.

His black T-shirt stretched over his shoulders and his eyes were especially bright blue today, like the water out in the bay probably looked, glistening under the summer sun.

“I don’t have all day,” Donovan said frostily, crossing his arms over his chest. “Can we move this along?”

“Yes.” Tyler cleared his throat and tried not to look at Donovan’s biceps, straining against the snug fabric. Jesus. How had he ever thought the guy was skinny? There was a solid strength to him that made Tyler’s traitorous mind wander to contemplating what he’d look like wielding a whip or a flogger.

Tyler flinched. No, stop thinking about that, he ordered himself.

On autopilot, Tyler went through the plan for the day, hitting on all the highlights. Donovan interjected a few times, bringing up things that Tyler hadn’t mentioned yet but had planned to, and the third time it happened, Tyler stepped forward and glared at him.

“Would you stop it? If you’d just let me finish what I was saying—”

“Well, it’s not my fault you’re leaving the most important things out!”

Tyler gritted his teeth. “I’m not leaving them out. I just hadn’t gotten to them yet. I would get to them if you’d give me the damn opportunity. I know what I’m doing here!”

“I still don’t understand why Rachael put you in charge,” Donovan said, his tone icy as he scowled at Tyler.

“She put me in charge because I’ve been here for a fucking decade,” Tyler said with a snarl. “And you have a shitload on your plate already. You’re running the whole kitchen, and Kristin is up to her eyeballs dealing with the front of the house. We’re fully staffed at the bar, so there’s no reason I can’t be the one overseeing everything for both sides while Rachael’s on vacation.”

“You don’t have the experience with kitchens,” Donovan said, glaring down at him.

“I’ve handled inventory and staff management here at the bar for years. What the fuck do you think I’ve been doing with my time?” Tyler protested, stepping up into Donovan’s space. He tried to ignore the whiff of cologne that teased his nostrils.

“I don’t care what you’ve been doing. I don’t take orders from a bartender.”

Tyler bared his teeth. “I’m the bar manager, thank you.”

Donovan grabbed Tyler’s chin and narrowed his eyes at Tyler. Tyler’s breath growing shallow at Donovan’s tight grip on his face and his intense glare. “I don’t take orders from anyone. I’m accustomed to giving them.”

Pissed off by his reaction to Donovan, Tyler broke free of his hold and spun him so he gripped Donovan’s hands behind his back. “And I don’t take orders from anyone I don’t respect. You haven’t earned that.”

He pushed close and groaned softly at the way it pressed his cock—half-hard already—against Donovan’s ass. Tension crackled between them, and Donovan growled under his breath, struggling to break free.

“Guys,” someone said in a warning tone.

The sound made Tyler drop Donovan’s hands, mortified that anyone had seen him acting so immaturely at work. Worst of all, it was Grant McGuire, Rachael’s partner. He had a concerned look on his handsome face.

“I’m in a tricky position here. I don’t want to step on your toes, or Rachael’s. It probably isn’t even my place to say something, but you two have got to work this shit out. We’re leaving on vacation tomorrow, and she’s trusting you two to run this place. This is the longest amount of time she’s ever had off in one stretch, and she deserves to be able to take that time off without worrying that you two are going to kill each other instead of keeping this place running. I don’t want her spending the week thinking about what’s happening here and not enjoying herself and actually relaxing for the first time in more than a decade! And I don’t think you want that either.”

“Shit.”

Tyler glanced over at Donovan, who was staring at Grant, a red flush staining his cheeks and making his hair look carrot-y orange by comparison. They stood, frozen for a second, before they stepped apart.

Tyler looked down at his feet, heat crawling up his neck as well. He was lucky to have this job. People were wary of hiring vets. And Tyler had no secondary education or ambition for anything better. At the time he was hired, he’d been desperately searching for a new direction in his life and he’d found that here.

“You’re right, Grant,” Donovan said, clearing his throat. Tyler glanced at him in surprise. He sounded genuinely sorry for his reaction. “I let my ego get in the way of what I was supposed to be doing.”

“I get it,” Grant said, stepping a little closer to both of them. “You’re both used to running the show and answering to Rachael. But she wasn’t trying to slight you, Donovan, when she put Tyler in charge. You’re already managing so much. She was trying to keep from piling too much on. Tyler has the time to handle it and the most experience with this place. You respect Rachael as a manager, right?”

They both nodded.

“Then trust her decision. She thought long and hard over it and came to the conclusion that it was for the best. Don’t undermine her authority. She’s damn good at what she does here.”

“She is,” Donovan agreed, an apologetic expression crossing his face as he glanced over. “I … I’m sorry, Tyler. Yes, I’ll do my best to work with you. I’m not saying it’s going to come easy, but I don’t want Rachael worrying about leaving any more than I think you do.”

“Agreed,” Tyler said. No way in hell was he letting Rachael down. Or making her regret her decision to take a vacation. He stuck out a hand. “Truce?”

“Truce,” Donovan shook too. He looked over at Grant. “Sorry about that.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me.” He held up his hands. “Hell, I feel like I’m overstepping here. It’s not my business, and the last thing I want to do is get involved where I’m not supposed to.”

“Nah, I’m glad you called me out,” Tyler said. He clapped a hand on Grant’s shoulder. “We’ll work it out. Rachael won’t get any calls from us this week about problems here, I promise.”

Relief crossed Grant’s face. “Good.”

Grant walked back toward Rachael’s office and Tyler glanced back at Donovan. “I mean it. I don’t want to fuck up her vacation because we can’t put our differences aside.”

“Me neither. What else did you want to discuss?”

Tyler shook his head, trying to clear it as he reached for the notes he’d left on the bar.

And he tried not to remember how it had felt to have his body pressed up against Donovan’s. And how, just for a second, he’d wondered what it would be like if the positions were reversed.

If he were the one helpless in Donovan’s grip.