by L. A. Witt
Marcus and Timur both stumbled a little on the way from the unmoving floor to the rotating one, but quickly regained their footing. The hostess showed them to a table against a window and left them with a couple of menus.
No surprise—Timur was more interested in the scenery than the menu. Who wouldn’t be? It really was a spectacular view. When they first sat down, they were facing Lake Union, slowly panning toward a gorgeous view of the Cascade Mountains with the sprawling city in the foreground.
Eventually, they remembered the menus and took their attention away from the ever-changing view long enough to order. Marcus went for the hazelnut-crusted chicken sandwich, and Timur ordered the alder-smoked rib eye. Just for the hell of it, they also ordered some prawns as an appetizer.
While the restaurant rotated, the window sills stayed stationary. Every so often, as their table passed a window, there’d be a coin sitting on the sill.
Timur pointed at a dime. “Coins?”
Marcus chuckled. “It’s kind of a game people play. Leave a coin on the sill and see if it’s still there when you come around again.” He gestured at the dime. “Sometimes kids do it to see if someone will replace it with a bigger coin.”
Timur laughed. “I should have brought euros.”
“They wouldn’t have expected that.”
“No.” He shrugged. “Next time.”
Damn it, Marcus. Don’t read into that.
He cleared his throat and picked up his drink. “Next time. Definitely.”
“Good.” Timur gestured at the window. “Mount Rainier?”
Marcus nodded. “Yeah. Looks gorgeous from up here. Good thing we came up on a clear day.”
When it was hazy, the snow-covered volcano was barely visible, but days like today? It was breathtaking and made a gorgeous backdrop for the skyscrapers of downtown Seattle.
“Have you ever been?” Timur pointed at the mountain again.
“I’ve been to the park. Done a little hiking.”
“To the top?”
“The— No.” Marcus shook his head. “That is one long, cold hike.”
Timur laughed. “Is hike? Not climb?”
“I think you can climb it on one side, but most people just hike it.”
“Bah.” Timur waved a hand. “Is easy, then.”
Marcus eyed him, then laughed. “Remind me not to let you choose the route if we ever go hiking.”
Timur just chuckled.
Their food arrived, and they enjoyed a long, leisurely lunch while they watched the scenery go by. Another point in Timur’s favor—comfortable silence. They could sit and eat, gaze out at the city, and Marcus didn’t feel that awkward need to say something just to occupy the space between them. Every quiet minute that went by was perfectly pleasant, not another piece of evidence to come up in an “if you’re not mad at me, why aren’t you talking to me?” screaming match later on.
I could really get used to this.
No, don’t go there.
Just eat.
As it always was in the Space Needle, the check was steep, but Timur insisted on paying.
“Are you sure?”
“Da.” Timur counted out a few twenties, even accounting for American tipping practices, and slipped them into the leather folder. “You cooked. I buy.”
“Thank you. Next one is on me.” As they stood, he added, “While we’re up here, we should go out on the observation deck.”
Timur nodded. “All right.”
The observation deck didn’t move like the restaurant did, which was nice. Marcus got a little bit of vertigo just standing out here, looking down at the city from five hundred plus feet in the sky, with the wind whipping at his hair. At least it wasn’t a seriously windy day—a swaying Space Needle would’ve been a bit much.
Doesn’t it sway like twenty feet during earthquakes?
Oh crap.
He grabbed the railing and swallowed.
Timur put a hand on Marcus’s lower back. “All right?”
“Yeah. I’m good.” Marcus swallowed again and steadied himself. “Not a huge fan of heights.”
“But you came up here?”
“I thought you’d want to see it.” Marcus forced a smile. “I’m okay. Honestly. Just usually like to stay a bit closer to the ground.”
Timur chuckled.
“What about you?” Marcus asked. “You don’t mind heights?”
“This isn’t height.” Timur gestured up at the sky. “That is height.”
Marcus glanced upward. “How high have you been?”
Gazing at the sky, Timur shrugged. “Many heights. I’ve never done…” He scowled. “The word…” He snapped his fingers a couple of times. “HALO. Never done.”
“HALO?” Marcus blinked. “You mean, jumping? Like, out of a plane?”
Timur nodded. “HALO is…” He raised his hand as if to indicate something high up. “Jump from here.” Then he lowered his hand. “Open chute here. Very low.” He grinned. “Is fun. Like flying. Have jumped many times. Someday, HALO.”
“Oh God…”
“What’s wrong?”
“You’re insane.”
“Of course.” Timur eyed him. “Is requirement for Legion.”
Marcus arched an eyebrow.
Timur snickered. “Is joke.”
Marcus laughed and shook his head. “Gotcha. Though I’m starting to wonder if they do require you boys to be insane.”
Timur shrugged as they started walking along the deck again. “Is not really requirement. Helps, though.”
“I have no doubt.”
They continued around the deck, making their way almost as slowly as the restaurant had moved.
A quarter of the way around, a woman glanced at them, wrinkled her nose and stalked off. What the hell? It wasn’t as if Marcus had never gotten a dirty look in public, but how the hell did she even know Marcus and Timur were more than just a couple of guys hanging out together? There was a baseball game today. For all she knew, they were just here killing time before heading over to Safeco Field. How in the—
Timur stopped to look at something, and Marcus stopped too, which was when he realize Timur’s hand was still on his back. Well, that explained how the woman had known they were together. No one else seemed to mind, at least. And especially now that he was aware of—and couldn’t ignore if he wanted to—the big gentle hand on his back, Marcus didn’t mind either.
It wasn’t a possessive gesture, not holding Marcus against him like Ray had done sometimes. Timur’s hand just rested lightly above Marcus’s belt, his palm warm through the thin T-shirt, and…Marcus liked it. A lot.
He wrapped his arm around Timur’s waist. Timur glanced at him, a slight smile pulling at his lips, and then looked out at the city.
Why can’t I be this comfortable with men who actually live here?
Ah well. Just enjoy it while it lasts.
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” a woman’s voice caught Marcus’s attention. He turned his head to see a mother speaking to her little girl and gesturing apologetically at the telescope. “I don’t have quite enough change.”
The little girl stared sadly at the telescope. “But…”
Marcus glanced at Timur. “I’ll be right back.”
Timur nodded, and Marcus stepped away, the small of his back cool where Timur’s hand had been resting. He fished a couple of quarters out of his pocket and handed them to the woman, who passed it on to the girl. She offered a shy “Thank you” and stepped onto the platform behind the telescope.
Her mother turned to Marcus. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
“No problem.”
While the woman helped her daughter with the telescope, Marcus turned back toward Timur, but paused for a moment to watch him. Timur didn’t notice—was leaning on
the railing, his gaze fixed on something in the distance. The wind was playing with his collar and the ends of his short black hair, and he didn’t seem the least bit bothered by being over five hundred feet in the air, held up by nothing but concrete and human ingenuity. But then, that wouldn’t bother him, would it? After all, that crazy bastard wanted to leap out of a perfectly good aircraft at some absurd height Marcus didn’t even want to think about.
He laughed at the thought and started toward Timur.
But then a scrawny guy in a tight T-shirt stopped in front of him. “Hey, you work at Wilde’s, don’t you?”
Marcus glanced around. “I do, yes.”
“I thought I recognized you.” He came closer, teetering right on the edge of Marcus’s comfort zone. “I’ve seen you there a few times.” The guy grinned, adding an unspoken I like what I’ve seen.
Marcus managed a smile that was hopefully convincing. “Well, I’ll be there tonight, so…”
“Good.” The guy stepped a little closer. “You’re kind of new there, aren’t you?” Behind him, Timur turned, and he peered at the guy, then at Marcus.
“Yeah, I’ve only been there a few months. Anyway, it was nice to see you.” He forced the smile to stay in place, and then sidestepped the guy to head toward Timur.
Undeterred, the stranger fell into step beside him. “So, um, any chance we could meet up for coffee or something? Before your shift?”
“I appreciate the offer.” Marcus stopped beside Timur. “But…” He nodded toward Timur.
The kid looked at Timur and shrank back a little. He cleared his throat. “Uh, okay. I’ll, uh, probably see you at Wilde’s. Have a good one.”
With that, he was gone.
Timur watched him. “Strange guy?”
Marcus gestured dismissively. “Just one of those idiots who thinks it’s open season on anyone who tends bar at Wilde’s.”
“Huh?”
“Sorry.” Marcus shook his head. “Some of the customers, they think we’re all single and interested in them.”
Timur glanced past him in the direction the guy had gone, and then laughed softly as he placed his hand on Marcus’s back. Ah, there you are. “Idiots.”
And with that, Timur scored another point in the you’re-so-much-better-for-me-than-Ray-was category. Ray would’ve been grilling him, demanding to know what he’d done to give the stranger a reason to approach him out in public like that, and for days afterward, if the kid had come into Wilde’s.
After a while, he turned to Timur. “You enjoying yourself?”
“Da. Is fun.”
“Good.” Marcus gestured downward. “There’s a music museum on the ground. The Experience Music Project. We could check that out?”
“Sounds fun.”
Chapter Nine
But regardless of how much fun they had, Marcus did eventually have to go back to work. That also ensured that the cats got fed and the litter boxes cleaned, he supposed. So after they left the Space Needle, they stopped by at Chris and Julien’s place to look after the cats. Then Marcus drove them to Wilde’s. The plan was for Timur to take his keys and chill at Marcus’s place until after closing. Of course that flew in the face of trying to keep this casual, sticking together like this all the time, but on the other hand, why not make the best of what time they had together?
Marcus pulled into the parking lot and switched the engine off. “I have about an hour until the shift starts.”
“Will wait with you.” Timur didn’t seem to have any other pressing items on his social schedule, so why the hell not. He could have a drink or just breathe some air or watch people, maybe even dance.
“Sure. Here are my keys.” He dug in his pocket for the keys and handed them over. “You get bored, just go hang out at my place. It’s not far from here, and there’s plenty of food in the fridge.”
Timur took the keys and nodded, but didn’t leave just yet.
Marcus pushed the door open and got his work clothes out of the trunk, then headed to the club, Timur in tow. Jack was already in, even though the doors wouldn’t open for a while, and, again, Timur attracted his attention. “Who’s your friend, Marcus?”
Marcus slowed down and turned toward Timur, then back at Jack. “Friend of mine. Timur. He’s also a friend of Julien’s. They were both in the Legion.”
Jack nodded as if that made a whole lot of sense. Marcus supposed it did—Timur was big, powerful, obviously foreign and friends with Chris’s husband. The Legion made as much sense as anything.
While Marcus prepped his station, Timur took a seat on one of the barstools.
“This might be kind of boring,” Marcus said.
Timur shrugged, folding his hands on the bar, which wouldn’t be nearly that clean and dry in a couple of hours. “Boredom isn’t always bad.”
Marcus eyed him. “What do you mean?”
A slight grin played at Timur’s lips. “Boredom means no one is shooting at you.”
Marcus laughed. “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”
Shrugging again, Timur chuckled. “Hadn’t either. Until war.”
Marcus paused, hands hovering over the garnish tray he’d been reaching for. Though he knew Julien had seen combat and he’d heard some of the stories—what few the man was willing to share—and he knew Timur had been a soldier for a decade, there was something odd about hearing that he’d been to war. Or maybe that there’d ever been a time when he hadn’t been to war. When he hadn’t appreciated boredom because the alternative was taking fire.
Clearing his throat, Marcus picked up the garnish tray. As he rinsed it in the sink below the bar, he said, “Well. Um. At least you’re well prepared.” He laughed quietly. “This place isn’t very exciting this time of day.”
“Means you’re not busy with others.” Timur smiled. “Is good.”
Marcus met his eyes, and his heart fluttered a little. What a concept—a man who just liked spending time together without the need to be constantly entertained. Where were men like this hiding?
His gaze slid toward Chris’s vacant station. Oh. Right. They were all hiding in the French Foreign Legion.
He cleared his throat and reached for a towel to dry the garnish tray. “Do you, uh, want something to drink?”
Timur’s gaze flicked up to the top-shelf bottles behind Marcus, and his eyebrows rose a little. “I’ve never…” he waved a hand at the bottles, “…never seen these.”
Marcus glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah, I guess there are a lot of options. Something with vodka?” As soon as he said it, he cringed. Good one, dude. Offer the Ukrainian guy vodka.
Timur laughed, though. “You are bartender. You know what is good.”
“It’s all a matter of taste. What I like, someone else might not.”
“We’ve liked same so far.”
Marcus paused, wondering if they were still talking about food and drinks. He met Timur’s gaze, and the gleam in those green eyes answered that question. No, they were definitely not talking about food and drinks. And, damn, he would actually have to spend some of that month outside the bed, never mind working, though Timur’s presence made him question if that was remotely compatible with his human rights. Getting laid was a human right, wasn’t it?
Anyway, cocktail. Most of his working shift he spent making the really simple ones—rum and coke, vodka and orange—and that was fine and dandy. Next came the common ones—daiquiris and mojitos and kamikazes—but he’d learned a few hundred recipes, and there were quite a few cocktails that he actually preferred but nobody ever requested.
“You choose” invited that level of creativity and electrified his synapses that were bored with the 99 percent usual orders. Looking at Timur, it had to be something with a French connection—something with Pernod, because it didn’t get more French than that. Actually, absinthe. While he’d trained, t
he green stuff had been illegal, but then it had become legal again a few years ago.
He pulled up a Collins glass, dropped ice into it, then found the absinthe bottle. A shot of absinthe, same amount of lime juice, added syrup and topped it up with water, with a cucumber slice as garnish. Straw pushed in. “There.”
Timur came closer and took the glass, sniffed at it and gave him a curious look. “What is it?”
“Green Beast. Haven’t made one in ages.” He could probably have come up with something darker green, but the name did it. “How is it?”
Timur sucked on the straw and nodded. “Is good.”
And damn it, but those two words were now forever tied into sweaty sex.
“Glad you like it.” Marcus’s mouth had suddenly gone dry, so he pulled his water bottle out from under the sink and took a long swallow. Christ. He usually wasn’t parched until closer to the end of his shift, when he’d been pouring booze for progressively more inebriated men for several hours. A few minutes, a look and a two-word phrase from Timur somehow had the same effect.
Do you really have to leave in a month?
That thought nearly made Marcus choke on his own breath, and he quickly shoved it to the back of his mind.
But apparently not before his face registered something, because Timur lowered his drink and asked, “Something wrong?”
“No. Nothing.” Marcus coughed and glanced around. “I, uh, need to refill my ice tray. Back in a second.”
Timur nodded and continued working his way through the Green Beast, and Marcus damn near sprinted into the back room where the ice bin was. He picked up the bucket but didn’t fill it right away. Instead, he rested his arm on the ice bin and closed his eyes.
What the fuck was the matter with him? Yesterday, he’d been fine with this arrangement—sex, cooking, tourism, more sex.
Now the idea of Timur leaving at the end of the month—it threw him off. They’d known each other for a few days. They barely spoke the same language. Marcus was hardly in love with the guy, but, damn it, he really liked him. That mellow, easygoing personality. The playfulness.
