He ducked out of the way so that he could take off his coat, but he spent the entire time staring at the bartender. He was gorgeous. His dark hair stood up in messy spikes, and he had hazel eyes that burned bright against the tan of his skin. His arms were banded with thick muscles, and if Jameson had to guess, he would have bet money that he had the abs to go with them.
Jameson had to remind himself not to stare. He also had to remind himself not to get a boner in public.
Immediately, he knew he had to talk to this guy. To get to know him. And to get him alone.
Sarah walked up to the bar and talked to him. She ordered drinks for her and Marceline. The guy turned up the charm, and Jameson's gut felt the echo of a punch. The bartender's smile was electric. But there was a note of insincerity there. Somehow that smile, that charm, didn't quite reach past his face.
Once Sarah and Marceline had gotten their drinks, they joined back up with him, and got into the crowd. The game was beginning. Jameson was playing the part of a butler that had been fired after many years of faithful service. Sarah also got a part, playing the mistress who had been handed a blank check for hush money and told never to call again.
Jameson was getting the idea that Old Man Mackintosh was kind of a jerk.
As the game began, he went around asking questions. Even people who didn't have specific characters to play were in on the action. They were trying to solve the mystery too. Jameson was asked how he knew the old man, and when he had last seen him. He was asked if he had been the murderer too, by people who weren't as clever as they thought they were.
All the while, he kept looking at the bartender. Jameson could hardly breathe for how badly he wanted him. His chest felt tight, as if his heart was being squeezed.
Drawing up all of his courage, he walked up to the bar. He saw the yellow envelope, and grinned. Yes, he was playing a part too! He probably had to, all the waitresses were in the game as well. There was quite a line around the bar, as people stared at their character information sheets with frustration.
The bartender was pouring beers from the tap. His hand on the glass made Jameson thirsty for a little more than beer. His fingers were long, his knuckles square. What would it be like, to have those hands on him? In his hair, and against his throat?
When it was Jameson's shout, the bartender looked at him, and for just a second, he saw that charming act slip from his face.
Say something!
"Hey, what're you having?" he asked, putting the charm back on like a clean shirt.
"Heineken," the guy said with an easy grin. "Are you playing?" he added, lifting his envelope for just a second.
"Yeah, hang on," said Corvin. He poured a Heineken from the tap, now aware of the man's eyes on his hands. Tonight was going to be a real test of his brand-new policy to stay away from dating. It was a little hard to breathe. His heartbeat was uneven and fast.
He tossed a napkin up onto the bar and set the beer on it, aware that he was preening, and wishing he could stop himself.
"How'd you know Old Man Mackintosh?" he asked, for the 4000th time that night.
"I was his faithful butler," said Jameson. "I served by his side for many years, until he unjustly fired me."
"For what?"
Jameson looked at the paper. "I don't know, it doesn't say why he did. Probably because he was a bastard, or I was developing an alcohol problem."
"Should you be drinking?"
"Well, it wouldn't make sense to interview a bartender without asking for a drink."
Corvin snorted, and said, "I'm the gardener. I asked for a pay raise but didn't get it."
"You're probably not making great money anyway, as a gardener. You really should have quit."
"Probably. But he was murdered, so he got his just rewards."
"Capitalist pig. Cheers," he added, raising his beer in a toast before taking a sip. He downed an inch off the top before he looked around the bar. Corvin found something to clean so he didn't have to stare at the auburn man's throat.
"I'm Jameson, by the way," he said, grinning. "What's your name?"
"Corvin."
"Pleasure to meet you."
Oh for crying out loud. Corvin bent down to rummage around and count glasses on the shelves. He was pretty desperate for a subject change, and for once he was thankful that he was at a party that came with a script.
"Who do you think did it?"
Jameson was confused. "Huh?"
"Who murdered the capitalist pig?"
"Oh. I probably did in a drunken rage. Too much brandy can really make a man lose his mind."
"Brandy?"
"Yeah. It was the snobbiest hard liquor I could think of."
Corvin chuckled. "You don't drink much, do you?"
"Well, I also don't know what time period we're supposed to be in. I mean, who has butlers anymore?"
"Apparently, Old Man Mackintosh did."
Jameson drank more, leaving less than half the glass full with foam pouring down the sides. It felt stifling in here all of a sudden.