The Gin Rickey

by George, G. R. ; George, Renee;

  Alex’s eyes widened at the unexpected compliment. “Thanks, Ricky.”

  Hearing Alex say his name made his chest tighten with emotion. It was as if until that moment, he hadn’t been sure Alex saw him as a real person. Ricky rubbed his palms up Alex’s chest before wrapping his hands around his neck.

  “I’ve been thinking about this since last night.” He pulled Alex down to meet his lips. Alex’s mouth trembled at first when their lips met, but he relaxed into the kiss, his arms encircling Ricky and pulling him close.

  Ricky groaned into Alex’s mouth, his lips parting as Alex slipped his tongue into the crevice. He’d give anything to stay in this moment, but he had an order to cook, and Alex’s shift was about to begin and the tall man was still naked from the waist down.

  A little breathless, Ricky ended the kiss, but, as he stared into Alex’s deep, brown eyes, he couldn’t bring himself to let go.

  Chapter 5

  He’s Blowing It!

  Ricky knocked down every wall inside Alex. He’d been embarrassed by his desire for Ricky—embarrassed by what he was willing to do to be with him. Ricky came off as dangerous and hardened, but when he laughed, the edges of his eyes softened. In that second, Alex decided he didn’t care about Ricky’s past. Those bright green eyes, brilliant with flecks of gold, pushed all of Alex’s buttons.

  He’d never been a fan of facial hair, but on Ricky he could learn to love it. When they’d kissed, it felt soft against his skin, not rough like he’d imagined. He touched the short beard, stroking it with his fingertips. He didn’t even care that his pants were still on the floor. He’d completely exposed and opened himself to Ricky.

  His reward—raw pleasure. Fuck! He shivered, thinking about Ricky’s tongue and cock inside him. Ricky had said Alex would beg for a pounding. He’d be sore for a couple of days, but the connection he’d shared with Ricky as the man stretched him wide, would be worth any amount of residual ache.

  He leaned down, initiating another kiss, slipping his tongue between Ricky’s lips and teeth when Ricky sighed his pleasure. God! The sound made Alex’s cock swell. He kissed along the exposed skin on Ricky’s face, the hard planes of his cheeks, his gorgeous eyes, turning Ricky’s head to lick up the line of his neck to his earlobe. He took the loose flesh between his teeth and gave it a gentle tug before shoving his tongue into Ricky’s ear.

  “Oh fuck,” Ricky groaned.

  “Yes,” Alex said, his voice rough and thick. “Fuck, yes. I want you, Ricky McNeil.”

  Ricky pushed Alex’s head to one side and nibbled his way to Alex’s collar. “And I want you, Alex Michaels,” he muttered. “I want more time with you.”

  Alex knew what Ricky wanted, and Alex wanted the same—more. “Will you go out with me, you know, on a date?”

  Ricky laughed, his face buried against Alex’s skin. “Yes, I know. I’d like to take you out. I just wish I had more time to give you. My life is work, work, and more work. I owe a lot of money.”

  “Loan sharks?” Alex slapped a hand over his mouth the moment the words came out. The shock on Ricky’s face must have matched his own. He imagined Ricky had a sketchy past, but thinking it and saying it aloud were two different beasts. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

  Ricky’s right brow raised. “You think I’m the kind of person who owes loan sharks?”

  “I didn’t mean…” Alex sputtered. “Please don’t be mad at me. I really like you, Ricky.”

  “Oh, I know.” Ricky shook his head. “You like a bad boy. Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not that bad.”

  “That’s not why I like you, just the opposite. I mean, I normally don’t…” Alex was blowing it. He had overlooked Ricky to begin with and now he’d offended him, and every time he opened his mouth he made it worse.

  He desperately wanted to see how far this attraction between them might go. He couldn’t let Ricky walk out of the closet. Not like this.

  Without thinking, he pushed past Ricky and pulled the closet door shut.

  “What did you just do?” Ricky brow raised.

  “I can’t let you go. Not like this. Not without explaining.”

  Ricky tested the handle on the door. “You know the lock is busted, right? We’re not getting out of here until someone takes off the handle.” His hands started to shake, and he clenched them into fists. “I really need this job, Alex. Fuck!”

  Alex gulped. The entirety of their situation, a situation he’d created, slammed into him with a rush of adrenaline. He was in a closet. A locked closet. With no way out. Suddenly his chest tightened, and it became harder to catch his breath. His breathing grew rapid, matching his racing pulse.

  The walls seemed to close in around him, pressing down. He could barely hear his name through the loud ringing in his ears. His gaze snapped down to Ricky, who shouted his name as he held his face.

  “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

  “I’m…I’m claustrophobic,” he managed to finally say. His hands were clammy as he clenched them tightly. The brightly lit closet grew dark as his vision dimmed. His chest heaved, and he fought to take in air.

  Ricky wrapped his arm around Alex. In a soothing voice, he said, “Lie down, Alex. You’re experiencing vasovagal syncope, a panic attack. It’s a cardioneurogenic response to your claustrophobia. We need to get you on the floor before you pass out.”

  It became harder for Alex to understand what Ricky was saying, but he allowed the man to guide him to the floor. He was vaguely aware of a roll of paper towels going under his head and another going under his feet.

  Ricky cupped both his hands over Alex’s mouth, muttering, “Breathe, just breathe. Easy now. It’ll pass.”

  When Alex’s breathing slowed and his vision began to clear, he watched as Ricky grabbed his pants from the floor and dressed him.

  “Just keep breathing,” Ricky said. “You’re not alone. Okay. I’m here.” With that said, Ricky turned to the door and started pounding on it. “Hey! Anyone out there?”

  After a few minutes, Alex heard Chris say, “Ricky? What’s going on? You get yourself locked in?”

  “Yes,” he said, relief evident. “Get us out of here.”

  “Us?”

  Ricky turned, then pressed his back against the door. He looked down at Alex, rolled his eyes, and grimaced. “Yes, us. Just get something to open this fucking door.”

  “All right,” Chris shouted. “Give me a minute.”

  Ricky sat on the floor next to Alex and gathered his head onto his lap. “You okay?”

  “Yes,” he said. He meant it. Ricky made him feel protected—cared for. He had managed to bring Alex back from a complete meltdown. He knew exactly what Alex needed. How many guys had Alex ever been with whom he could say that about? None. “I’m sorry, Ricky. I’m an idiot. You’re wonderful, and that’s all I need to know. Please tell me I didn’t mess it up with you.”

  Ricky smiled, pushing Alex’s hair from his face. “You didn’t mess it up. Not yet, anyhow.”

  The door rattled as people worked on the other side to get it open. Relief, like the panic had done earlier, washed through Alex. Ricky was giving him a second chance.

  The door busted open with Jay and Chris filling the opening. They both looked surprised, but Jay recovered quickly.

  “I don’t pay you guys to lay around.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Get yourselves cleaned up and back to work.” His eyes narrowed on a box of nacho boats and the wet, sticky spill darkening the brown surface. “Get the boats out of the box and throw the damn thing away for fuck sake.” He swiveled around, took Chris by the arm, and left Alex and Ricky alone.

  Slowly, with Ricky’s help, Alex sat up. “About that date…”

  “I’m off on Wednesday.”

  Two days. He smiled—it was enough time to recover. “I’m scheduled that night, but I’ll switch shifts with someone.”

  “It’s a date,” Ricky said. He stood and dusted his pants. He helped Alex from the fl
oor and kissed him to seal the deal.

  “Back to work!” Jay yelled through the kitchen door.

  Before Ricky could pull away, Alex wrapped his arms around him and drew him close. He’d misjudged Ricky so badly, and in the process, nearly lost the opportunity to get to know him. However, there was one question he couldn’t get off his mind. “How did you know what to do when I had the anxiety attack? Do you get them?”

  “I almost did a few minutes ago.” Ricky chuckled. “But no, I don’t get them. I’m an intern at the hospital. I thought you knew. Dr. Grace, the guy dating Jay, got me the job here. He’s my Attending.”

  “Oh, so the whole owing a lot of money…”

  “Student loans.” Ricky shook his head. “I don’t know what I ever saw in you.”

  “I don’t know either,” Alex said, pouring all the emotion he felt into his words. “But I’m glad you did.” He dipped his head, his lips meeting Ricky’s in a tender kiss. “I’m glad you did.”

  The End

  Preview the next book

  The Dirty Martini

  The Other Team, Book 4

  G.R. George

  Dirty Martini Recipe

  6 ounces of Vodka

  A dash of Vermouth

  1 ounce Green Olive Brine

  4 Stuffed Green Olives

  Mix all the ingredients into a tall glass. With a Cocktail strainer, pour the mixture into a martini glass, garnish with olives, and enjoy. For variety, try it over the rocks. Invite a friend—double the recipe and double the dirty.

  Chapter 1

  Bad News is Bad News

  Chris Lawson watched from behind the bar as Jay Lincoln, the owner of The Other Team Sports Bar & Grill, gave his new boyfriend, a middle-aged doctor, a kiss good-bye at the door. He rolled his eyes as he methodically cleaned highball glasses. He wasn’t jealous, not in the least. Those guys were idiots. The Other Team filled up with hot men almost every night, and the idea of only taking one home FOREVER, didn’t appeal to Chris even a little.

  At twenty-four, he still had a lot of field he wanted to play before settling down. The fact that Tucker and Todd were glued at the hips—which damn, he sure missed Todd, a hot guy, a hot body, and a hot fuck—and Alex and Ricky—the odd couple—who seemed oddly happy, made Chris want to gag on all the sappy romance going on around him. Though, he really regretted not tapping Ricky. That dude was sexy with a capital S.

  As if on cue, Ricky poked his head out from the kitchen. “Order up.” His dark hair fell over his light-green eyes. The way the muscles in his arm flexed and brought his tattoos to life, made Chris’s dick hard. Fuck. He needed to stop window shopping unavailable men.

  Jay knocked on the counter to get Chris’s attention. “Okay?” Jay had short, brown hair—all business-like—but his eyes, the color of aged whiskey, always fascinated Chris. He’d never seen another person with that exact shade of amber. Those warm eyes made Jay hard to ignore—not that Chris would sleep with his employer. He’d learned from previous experience not to shit where he ate.

  “Yeah, Jay,” Chris finally said. “I’m good.”

  “You have a call on my office phone.” Jay narrowed his dark brows.

  “Who would call me here? Anybody who knows me would call my cell.” Shit. Had he forgot to make a loan payment for his car? No. He’d covered that last Tuesday. Maybe a late credit card…No. He’d never missed a payment, but because of the way he grew up, his family always dodging one bill collector after another, it made Chris worry about getting in over his head.

  Jay shrugged. “She said she’s your mother.”

  Chris dropped the glass he’d been drying. It fractured into tiny pieces when it hit the floor.

  Chapter 2

  Marty’s Homecoming

  Sergeant Martin “Marty” Lincoln, a Ranger in the U.S. Army pushed his way inside The Other Team Sports Bar & Grill and leaned heavily on his cane. He hadn’t seen his brother Jay in four years. Marty smiled. It was a Saturday afternoon, and his brother’s new place thrived. The bar stools were full, and he didn’t see a single empty booth.

  Marty was younger than Jay by seven years—their parents’ oops child. He’d always looked up to Jay. When Jay had told their parents he was gay, Mom and Dad had initially reacted badly. Mom wept for days lamenting the fact he’d never be able to marry or have kids.

  Luckily, time was slowly changing things, and if progress continued, Jay would have all the rights of a heterosexual soon enough. Time had also changed their parents’ attitude. The past week he’d spent with them, they both went on and on about how well Jay was doing—how he was dating a doctor. Mom had seemed especially happy about the doctor part. She’d always wanted one of her boys to go to medical school. Instead she got a bar owner and a soldier.

  Jay had texted and e-mailed Marty with selfies of Harvey and himself. At least one Lincoln brother was happy. Marty had spent two years between Afghanistan and Iraq, and during that time he’d been awarded a Silver Star and a Purple Heart. The Silver Star had been for bravery in the face of enemy fire, and the Purple Heart, for taking shrapnel from an IED made of nails and chunks of metal into his legs, chest, and neck. One metal chunk had managed to miss his carotid artery by just a few millimeters.

  The field surgeon had told Marty he was lucky. He certainly hadn’t felt lucky. The injury to his left leg had been severe enough, even after two years of rehab, to give him a permanent limp and take him out of combat. The commander of his unit recently asked him if he wanted to be a trainer for RASP (Ranger Assessment & Selection Program). But even though it was an honor to be asked, it was also like telling the quarterback he couldn’t play football anymore, but they’d let him coach.

  Marty asked for some time to think about it, and put in for his leave. He wanted to spend his last week with Jay before he had to go back to Fort Benning and give his decision.

  He glanced around the crowded bar until his eyes rested on young man with short, chestnut colored hair walking toward the door. His hands shook, and he swayed a bit. The guy’s eyes were glassy, and his skin flushed. Marty had seen that look before. He was going into shock.

  Before Marty could take a step, the dark-blond collapsed face first to the floor. A tall, lanky waiter rushed to his side. “Someone get Ricky!”

  Marty’s field training took over. He rushed as fast as his bad leg would take him to the fallen man. “Here. Let me help.” He scooched the lanky fellow aside and rolled the young man over to assess his injuries. He had a rapid and thread pulse. A small welt formed on his forehead, and he had a minor cut on his upper lip. When Marty spread the guy’s eyelid open to check his pupil, the injured man moaned and rolled his head from one side to the other.

  “Just hold still.”

  “Is Chris all right?” the waiter asked.

  Now he had a name for the man. “Chris?” He brushed Chris’s hair away from his face. The man’s eyes fluttered but he didn’t open them.

  The bar crowd’s excitement resulted in louder conversations and pushing in to see what happened. Marty had seen people hyperventilate before. Hell, it wasn’t uncommon in combat. He had to get Chris to a quiet place. “Is there a quiet place to take him?”

  The waiter nodded. “We can take him to the back. Jay, the owner, stepped out for a minute, but he won’t mind if you use his office.”

  Marty lifted Chris with some effort, taking the burden even with his injury, and carried Chris until he could lay him down on Jay’s couch.” Marty pointed to the waiter. “What’s your name?”

  “Alex.”

  “Alex, can you get a cold washcloth?” He put Chris’s feet up on the arm of the sofa.

  “My, uh…friend is a doctor. I’ll go get him.”

  “All right.” Convenient that. Jay was dating a doctor. The waiter was friends with a doctor. He wondered if Jay’s boyfriend and this waiter’s “friend” was the same person.

  “Okay, fella.” Marty patted his cheek. It felt cool and damp, but Chris’s pulse
had slowed down to about seventy beats per minute. The young man’s black shirt was buttoned to the neck. Marty undid the top buttons to loosen the collar. By the third, he could see Chris’s smooth chest. Natural or manscaped?

  His curiosity won out over better judgment, and he ran his fingers along Chris’s exposed skin. It was incredibly smooth, no stubble.

  Chris’s hand moved over Marty’s, holding his palm flat to the sculpted chest. His eyes opened, a warm hazel color-thick with golds and greens, and seemed to stare right through Marty.

  “Feel something you like?” he asked.

  Marty, caught off guard, quickly withdrew his hand. “Are you serious? I was just trying to make sure you were breathing.”

  Chris raised a brow. “I haven’t heard that one before.” He tried to sit up, but stopped. “Ow!” He pressed his fingers to the knot on his forehead. “Shit. Did someone get the number of the bus that hit me?” He licked his upper lip, running the tip along the split in his skin. “At least, one good thing came out of it.” Those intense hazel eyes raked over Marty. “Okay, tall, dark, and dreamy. Who are you?”

  A familiar voice answered from behind them said, “He’s my younger brother, Chris, and he’s straight. So you’re wasting your time.”

  Marty’s gut clenched. If he was so straight then why was his dick struggling against the front of his jeans?

  Chris raised a brow at Marty then lay his head back again. “Yes, Boss.”

  Chapter 3

  How’d You Know?

  Chris squatted down in the alley by the back door of the bar. He cradled his neck with his hands, his hair shading his closed eyes. He couldn’t believe he’d passed out. It was fucking embarrassing. To make matters worse, his really hot babysitter was his boss’s straight younger brother.

  “Hey, you doing okay?”

  Chris turned his head and gazed at Marty. “Better, I think. You can go back inside.” Ricky, the cook, who happened to be an intern at the hospital, had checked Chris over. He’d looked in Chris’s eyes with a small light then told him to watch for warning signs of a head injury like nausea, vomiting, dizziness, double vision, and a severe persistent headache. Chris had told Ricky, and Jay, and everyone else who’d congregated around him, that he just needed some air. He’d been surprised when Marty had followed him to the alley.