“I’ll scope some out from our suppliers and get back to you with items and prices,” Roy said, scratching out a seemingly illegible note to himself.
He and Daz were discussing ordering new glassware for ladies’ nights. We’d never needed things like martini glasses much in the past, or tube-shaped shot glasses, but adjusting to the change of a female clientele was making certain upgrades necessary to keep the hype up.
We were having an impromptu meeting now that Daz was back. I was surprised by how well behaved Daz was being in front of Roy given he’d never bothered before. When he was still trying to get in my pants, there was no filter at all. Now that the deed had been done—repeatedly—he actually found some sense of propriety.
Too little too late since Roy had been the one to call me in the night before when Daz was drunk—something I hadn’t confirmed, but I was guessing was because Daz offered up my name—and no doubt was aware the boss left with me. If anything, him playing it cool now only made it more obvious.
Of course, Roy was giving nothing away either, so what he knew—or thought he knew—was his secret.
“Good. Anything else?” Daz, all business, asked us both. Neither of us spoke up. “All right. What’s going on with the asshole who kept calling?”
“Stopped,” Roy responded. That, I hadn’t known. “Had everyone on the bar keeping a log. Last one that came in unless one of the dancers answered the line after we told them to stay off was when Avery picked up and told him off.”
Daz looked my way. There wasn’t any menace to his look or voice, just curiosity when he asked, “You did what?”
“I just told him to stop. That he could come see the show or call a sex line, but harassing our girls was just going to get him in trouble.”
Daz started laughing, and I had no idea why until he muttered, “A sex line.”
Oh shit. That was the same thing I had said to him the first night he called.
Roy, not getting that part, tacked on, “She failed to mention that she got all mafioso on him. I thought she was gearing up to threaten he’d be sleeping with the fishes.”
That made Daz laugh harder.
“Yes, yes. It was hilarious.” The sarcasm was strong with those words. “Are we done here?”
Daz, the mirth still on his face, declared, “We’re done.”
Roy got to his feet, reaching into the box I’d set on the table to grab another cupcake before he got back to work. “I need to get in touch with your source about a cake for Sheila’s birthday next month.”
That set Daz back to laughing. “Yeah, I know all about her fuckin' source now. Thanks for your help on that, by the way.”
“Damn. What am I going to hold over his head now?” Roy asked me.
“Looks. Brains. A personality that doesn’t make everyone around you homicidal?” I suggested.
Roy walked away laughing while Daz adopted a ridiculous pout. “You don’t like me?”
I snatched one of the cupcakes for myself and ignored his question while I scooped up a bit of frosting on one finger and bought it to my mouth.
“Jesus Christ. That’s just fucking indecent,” Daz growled, actually reaching down to adjust his crotch. It wasn’t just a game. He was actually turned on.
“You really are kind of a pervert, aren't you?”
He volleyed back with, “You’re going to eat a fucking cupcake for me when I can get you alone to find out.” He reached out a finger to steal some of the frosting from mine. “Or maybe I’ll just make you whip up a batch and eat it off you.”
Crap. Now I was getting turned on.
Pot, meet kettle.
Not going there at work, I shuffled my little pile of papers back into order and got ready to walk away. Daz grabbed my hand before I could get to my feet.
“What’re you doing now?”
I glanced around the room. The answer was pretty self-evident. “Working?”
“Do you have anything that needs to get done tonight?” he persisted.
“Not really. I was just going to make sure no one has drama over something stupid.”
He considered this. “Trish on tonight?”
“Yes.”
He shrugged. “Then she can hold down the fort while you go to dinner with me.”
Not one of those words was complicated, but put together, my brain was completely unable to process them.
“What?”
“You. Me. Dinner. You know, the meal you eat at night?” he broke it down.
Asshole.
“A. Why? B. It’s four o’clock. Are you eighty? Why would we eat dinner already?”
“Would you just come on?” he griped.
I should have argued. This was a ridiculous plan and it was my job to handle things, not Trish’s. However, I was wise enough to see he was not going to let this go.
“Fine.”
“We just have to pick something up first,” he said, already ushering me to door.
We did not have to pick something up.
We had to pick someone up. He drove me to a massive warehouse with several bikes parked out front, explaining it was the “clubhouse.” After asking what I wanted to do, he left me sitting in the car while he ran inside. To say I was shocked when he emerged with a small male child would be putting it lightly.
It should have occurred to me before then that it was odd Daz was driving a car. Well, an SUV, to be precise. Still, I’d never seen him on anything but his bike. I also failed to notice the carseat already set up.
I became very aware of all of that when Daz stepped outside carrying the little guy.
They went right to the back, where Daz opened the door and got to strapping him in. Meanwhile, I watched in the rearview mirror because I wasn’t entirely sure what to do.
We just have to pick something up first.
Dammit, Daz.
“Say hi to my friend Avery,” he instructed, still getting the confusing looking belt in order.
“Hi!” followed in an exuberant little boy voice.
Well, I couldn’t very well just keep facing forward then. Turning in my seat, I looked at the very happy looking child and returned. “Hi. What’s your name?”
“O-O,” he responded.
My eyes jumped to Daz, who was grinning. “Owen,” he corrected. “My nephew.”
His nephew.
I could see it then. The brown hair and green eyes were the same. There was even a mischievous look to his little smile that reminded me of Daz.
His nephew.
It was when the thought went through my head the second time that the realization came to me. This adorable, seemingly happy little boy had just lost his father. God, he was probably too young to understand. Even worse, probably too young to remember as he grew up.
My lungs seized, and I fought to keep the smile on my face so Owen wouldn’t see the anguish, but I knew Daz did.
When he climbed back into the driver’s seat, he said low, “Need to get him out of the house for a while. His mom needs some time. Had one of the brothers watching him while I went to the shop, but now I’m back on shift.”
I wanted to ask why I was coming along, what my role was in helping distract Owen, but I didn’t push. At least not with little ears right behind us.
“You know where we’re goin’, little man?” Daz asked, looking to the backseat.
I watched in the mirror again as Owen threw his tiny fists up in the air above his head and cried, “Chuck Cheese!”
We were going to a Chuck E. Cheese? That was dinner?
I shot a look to Daz that said exactly how much explaining he had to do, and he grinned unrepentantly.
“Ay-ree, Chuck Cheese!” Owen enthused, and I realized he was trying to say my name.
God, he was so cute. And Daz knew it.
Bastard.
“Yeah, handsome, Chuck E. Cheese!” I smiled back to him.
“Le’s go!”