by Aiden Bates
If one thing could maybe go right for him this week, the opening wouldn't turn into a disaster and Trattoria Sienna would be solvent by the end of its first year. "You want to go out and do the shopping, be my guest."
"Maybe I should." She crossed her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow. "Would you like to know what the problem was with taking delivery of that much squid this morning?"
Logan gave her a U-shaped, smarmy smile. "I'm sure you're going to tell me."
She returned the expression. "In nauseating detail, my friend. The first problem was finding space for all that squid in the freezer, since we had other uses for that space. The second problem was that I was the only one here, and you are on some seriously mind-altering substances if you think that they were going to help me bring all of that back into the freezer when they had a pile of other deliveries to make."
Logan winced and took Kaylee's hand. "Jeez. I'm sorry. I'm not sure how that happened, but I won't let that happen again. There's no way you should have to have carried the whole delivery out back and had to put it away, too."
Kaylee squeezed his hand for a second, a signal that she'd mostly forgiven him already, before crossing her arms over her chest and giving him one of her best cat-ate-the-canary smiles. "Oh, but I didn't. I had two very attractive young men to help me."
Logan scratched his head. "What, paperboys? Local strippers?"
"We've got a club in the area and you didn't tell me?" Kaylee shook her head. "Give me all the details later, and I do mean every single one. No, I mean the two guys who own Joe's. Silas and Sam Marlowe. They are some fine-looking gentlemen."
Logan groaned. "They're not gentlemen, Kaylee. They're… they're barbarians, with a liquor license." He buried his head under his arms. "Ugh. Did they touch anything?"
"Yeah, sure, they took a crate of frozen squid to garnish their newest signature cocktail. It's the Get Your Head Out of Your Ass, mixed with a special blend of classism, rum, and blue curaçao." Kaylee snorted and stood up. "What is wrong with you? If those guys hadn't helped out, if they hadn't been here to lift and carry, I think a good portion of that squid would have thawed and that would have been a real disaster. It turns out that they knew the guys making the delivery, too."
Logan straightened himself out. "You're right. I'm sorry. That was ass-y of me. They were helpful, and I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions." He frowned. "What were they doing here at eight o'clock on a Sunday morning, though?"
"They live upstairs. They were sleeping." Kaylee had the good grace to hang her head and look sheepish. "I think the younger one might have heard me getting a little upset with the delivery guys and came down to see what all the fuss was about." She lifted her eyebrows. "Without his shirt, I should add, and let me tell you that was not a sight for the faint hearted."
Logan's face might as well have caught fire. He'd noticed how attractive Sam was back on Monday, when they'd met. Sam's black tee shirt hadn't done much to hide his strong muscles. He could imagine just how beautiful the omega would look without his shirt on, or even better completely naked. His clean and citrusy scent danced around Logan's imagination every time they ran into one another, even though their encounters were never the type to encourage sexy thoughts.
"Not appropriate, Kaylee," he said, tugging at his collar. He tried for an authoritative tone. He was pretty sure strangled didn't equate to authoritative in most cultures, but it was the thought that counted, right?
"I'm just reporting the facts, bro." She placed a hand primly onto her chest. "I mean, these are things that you need to know. Anyway, once he figured out what was going on, he woke that brother of his up and they chipped right in." She grinned low and slow. "Two handsome brothers, sweet and helpful, right next door to the shop. Things are looking up."
"Oh, sure, they'll help you." Logan rolled his eyes.
"Invited me over for a drink after hours, too." She winked. "That Silas, he's a charmer."
Logan shuddered. "I don't think charming is the word I'd use. But hey. To each his own, and I do need to go and thank them for helping out. I can't figure out quite why they would do that, but whatever their reasons, I need to prove that I wasn't raised in a barn." He managed a little grin and stood up.
"Good boy." Kaylee beamed at him.
Logan walked through the dining room and out the door. He headed next door, where the long line of Harleys parked out front proved that Sunday was not a day of rest for Joe's. He should be happy for the brothers, that they were profitable, but then again that kind of clientele would just scare his customers away. That wouldn't look great for him at review time. He sighed and glared at the row of clean, beautiful bikes and went inside.
Both brothers were behind the bar today, and a couple of women walked through the healthy-sized crowd with trays of drinks. Sam looked up from the customer he was talking to and met Logan's eye. Their gazes lingered for just a moment, and then Sam was already reaching for the cocktail glass.
Logan blinked. Seriously? It was one o'clock.
The fact that it was one o'clock didn't stop him from sliding forward, like he was being pulled, and sitting down in the stool in front of Sam. Something in his gut shifted. He wasn't sure if it was shame or desire. Sam's citrus scent wafted around his nostrils again, demanding attention. "Hi," he said, looking down for a moment.
"Hi there." Sam slid the martini over the bar, right in front of Logan's downcast eyes. "Happy Sunday."
Logan huffed out a little laugh. "Thanks." He shouldn't take the drink. He was working. He had a long day ahead of him before he headed back to his rental in Portland.
Silas loomed over Sam's shoulder, like a second menacing head. "This guy giving you a hard time, Sam?" he asked. Silas' voice was a silken baritone, full of dark promises that sent chills right up Logan's spine. Logan could see a scar running up the elder brother's forearm, one he'd tried to cover with a tattoo of a knife. How had he gotten that?
"Nah." Sam grinned, sharp and bright. "He only just got here, man."
Logan swallowed. He shouldn't have come. He should have just sent a fruit basket. "I wanted to say thank you."
Silas looked at Sam. Sam looked at Silas. "What did you do?" Silas asked his brother, eyebrows furrowed in the middle.
"Nothing, man. I've been here since ten." Sam held up his hands. "Maybe it was you."
Logan cleared his throat and thanked whatever deity or spirit watched over alphas that he only had sisters. "You both came downstairs and helped Kaylee this morning. My chef."
Both brothers visibly relaxed. "Oh." Silas smiled, a little tinge of pink popping into his cheeks. Great, one more thing to worry about. "That's okay, then. What were you thinking, dude? Ordering a huge delivery like that when no one's going to be around to help her out?"
Sam nodded, dark hair falling out from his ponytail into his face. "Yeah, man. I mean she's strong, don't get me wrong, but there's no way one person could have carried all that in by themselves, and Frank and Paul aren't allowed to carry stuff in. It's in their contract, and anyway Frank's got a bad back. That's why they've got him driving the truck instead of out on the boats or loading shipments at the dock."
"I know. I could have sworn that I scheduled that delivery for tomorrow, but Kaylee already set me straight on that. It's lucky for us that you guys were around. You definitely saved her from a lot of aggravation and possibly hurting herself, and you absolutely saved us a ton on that shipment."
Sam's cheeks colored up, all rosy and pink. Logan wanted to make him blush again, preferably far from the prying eyes of the bikers. "Ah, it wasn't anything. We're not the kind of guys who would just walk on by if we see someone struggling like that, you know?"
Silas glared at him. "Next time, though, you should really take better care of your workers. They had a few break-ins around here last year. It wasn't good."
Logan had been about to sip from his drink. He put it down. "Really? The realtor didn't mention that."
"Of course they didn't
. Probably didn't tell you that you were going to be setting up shop next to a biker bar, either." Silas snorted.
Logan took up his drink again. "It was obvious from the pictures, but I think the guys who own the trattoria thought the place was closed." He shrugged. "Obviously the realtor took the pictures at the wrong time."
"Or the right time." Sam winked. "She got them to sign the lease, right?" He laughed and went to go get refills for a table of guys in leather.
Silas' eyes narrowed as soon as Sam moved away. "He's off limits, there, alpha boy. You get that, right?"
Logan looked Silas in the eye. "I don't know where you're getting the idea that I'm going to make a move on your brother, but I haven't tried."
"And you're not going to. I can see how you're looking at him. You're all but undressing him with your eyes, and I'm about to go get a towel to mop up your drool." He grinned, tight and vicious. "I get it. Sam's a pretty guy. He's big, he's built, he's fit, whatever." He waved a hand. "Hands off."
"He's a grown man. He can make his own decisions, don't you think?" Logan put his drink down and leaned forward.
"Sure he can. And I'm his brother. I'm the only family he's got, and I'm not about to have some yuppie scumbag stringing him along because he likes the bad-boy look for a little while and then just ditch him once he gets attached. Nope. Nothing doing. Someone's got to look out for the kid, and it ain't going to be some priss who wears a tie on the goddamn weekend." Silas straightened up.
Logan didn't have to look up to see that Sam was coming back over to where he sat. Sam's scent announced his impending arrival like a herald. "Got it."
Silas smirked at him and went to go take care of a man with a graying beard that reached down to his navel. Where did a guy like that work, anyway? Did he just not have a family to take care of?
Logan sipped from his drink and thought about his confrontation with Silas. He'd challenged Silas on his paternalism mostly because it had been exactly that — paternalism. It was the twenty-first century, for crying out loud. Omegas didn't need a family member's permission to date or get claimed anymore.
At the same time, while Silas' words had been harsh and full of resentment, the bar owner had been accurate with his assessment of Logan's intentions. Of course he was attracted to Sam. Anyone with eyes — men, women, potatoes — would be attracted to Sam. He had the body of a god. His smile could cure disease, and his scent could cure erectile dysfunction. Logan wanted to map out every one of Sam's muscles with his tongue, and trace the lines of his tattoos besides.
But more than that?
Logan wanted a mate, eventually. Like any other middle-class alpha, he wanted to settle down. He had a plan. He wanted to claim an omega, buy a house, raise two point five kids, join the PTO, have pictures on the walls of his beautiful and shining family. His omega would have to interact with his bosses' wives and omegas. He would have to fit in, to know how to behave at the corporate Christmas party.
Sam was beautiful. His mere presence in a crowded taproom set all of Logan's senses on fire. Sam could never circulate among the executive wives and omegas at New England Restaurants. Logan tried to picture the handsome bartender in a suit and tie, or even in dress shoes instead of motorcycle boots, and his brain couldn't conjure the image. It just didn't compute.
He sighed and finished his drink. Yeah, Sam would be fine for a fling, but not as a lifetime companion. Not if Logan wanted to be able to actually support an omega, which was the whole reason he'd gone into this field in the first place. And apparently Silas had views on the subject. Flings were well and good, but not worth cops never finding his body.
He finished his drink, paid for it, and headed back to his side of the wall. They had work to do.
Chapter Two
Sam checked the oil levels on both bikes and wiped his hands on the nearest rag. He hadn't had any doubts, of course. He'd known how to change the oil on a motorcycle since he was ten years old, for crying out loud, but it made sense to double check. Things could go wrong. There could be a leak he hadn't noticed, or something. It would be better to figure it out now than out on the road.
He noticed Logan's black-tea scent wafting toward him before he heard the alpha's approach. Other guys said that being an omega would be the worst thing they could imagine. Sam figured he had it pretty good, all things considered. Sure, he'd probably get pregnant someday, but there were worse fates, and he got nifty benefits like being able to sniff people out in a crowd. Of course, being able to sniff Logan out didn't explain why the trattoria manager was coming out to the garage to pester Sam on his day off, but Sam knew that Logan would be sure to tell him.
Logan stepped into the garage bay. "Nice setup you've got here. Pretty sweet deal you've got with the landlord." His limpid blue eyes slid over the bikes. "These yours?"
Sam snorted and put a possessive hand on his Night Rod. "Naw. I'm just babysitting."
"Just asking. Can't imagine you get many chances to get out and ride." Logan moved a little closer but didn't get close enough to touch the bikes. Obviously, he knew what was good for him.
"We make time." Sam put his rag down. "Is there something I can help you with? It's my day off, man."
"For real?" Logan wrinkled his nose. "And you're still here?"
Sam shook his head. What was with Yuppie Boy, anyway? "Well, I do live here. And when a guy lives someplace, he does things that need doing. Like changing the oil, or otherwise maintaining my sweet ride." He spread his hands out. "Sometimes I take out household trash, too. Very exciting, I know. A day in the life of an actual blue-collar Mainer. You should film this. You could make a fortune on the film rights, from the documentary."
"Heh. Cute." Logan made half a grin. "I have to say that I'm not sorry to see you apart from your brother. He's a little aggressive." Logan almost brushed a shoulder against one of the shelves, but jerked away before he could get dirty.
"I prefer the term proactive." Sam grabbed a helmet. "If you have a point, maybe you could think about getting to it?"
"Right. We're hoping to be able to use this back alley for premium valet parking." Logan swallowed.
"Not happening." Sam scanned the floor for any stray bolts or caps. The ground was just as pristine as it had been before he started.
"I'd hoped we could discuss this like gentlemen." Logan sighed. "I'll just go to your landlord."
Sam stuck his hand out. "Hi. S. Marlowe, of S. And S. Marlowe. We own this property. The whole property, not just the business. That means the apartments above. That means the alley behind, all the way to the property line. And no one is going to let themselves get blocked in by the valets, for the entire weekend, so that you can make a couple of extra bucks."
Logan flinched. "I didn't realize you were property owners."
"Of course you didn't. You figured that because we don't look or dress like respectable people who golf, we'd be easy to push around." Sam put his hand down, unshaken. "Just go, man. If you want to take this to court, do it, but you wouldn't believe the number of lawyers we get in here. Hell, they'll defend us for free."
Logan stuffed his hands in his pockets. "It doesn't have to be like that. And it's not about making a couple of extra bucks. It's about bringing people into this restaurant and keeping it alive. People don't want to park their nice cars over here. Can you blame them?"
Sam clenched his jaw and tried to remember that violence was wrong. "You get that I park my car here every night, right? And my bike."
Logan ran his hand through his stylish brown hair. "Okay, but these aren't your people. They're not going to be comfortable doing that. They're not going to be comfortable walking in heels for three blocks to get to the restaurant, either."
Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm not the one who put a thirty-five-dollar-a-plate restaurant out here, man."
"That thirty-five-dollar-a-plate-restaurant is bringing business to this area. I've hired a pile of people who have jobs, and health insurance, because of that thirty-five-dollar-a-p
late restaurant." Logan stamped his foot. "Who's going to hire them if I go belly up, huh? You?"
"Why do I think your sommelier isn't exactly a neighborhood boy, Logan?" Sam smirked and leaned forward. That was a mistake; that got him closer to Logan's black-tea scent. Wouldn't it be great if that body and that scent could be transferred to someone a little less yuppie? "Anyway, I do feel kind of bad for those people, but you know what? You brought them on with promises you couldn't deliver. A place like your restaurant might fly in downtown Portland. No one out here is going to shell out those kinds of prices for dinner."
"They will if we make the experience right for them." Logan met his eyes. "Look, I'll admit that I recommended a different course of action. I didn't think that the trattoria would be a good fit for the location myself. But my bosses chose it, and it's my job to make it succeed, and I'm going to do that."
