“Do you like calamari? Because they do a calamari, grapefruit, and avocado bruschetta antipasto that is to die for, I swear!”

Drew rested his elbow on the table, and cradled his chin in his hand as he watched his date pore over the menu with the same obvious excitement he’d shown for Drew’s simple attire of jeans and a deep green cashmere sweater, the rustic but elegant restaurant decor, and the football game, which apparently the Patriots were winning at the half.

West Kitchen, a fairly new fusion restaurant Drew had eaten at several times, was impressive as always - dark wood tables, snow-white linens, twinkling fairy lights, and conscientious servers. Mark was as objectively hot as ever in a dark blue suit, to the point where Drew almost wanted to take a selfie to send Peter.

But sadly, the most interesting part of the date for Drew thus far was the comical way Mark kept over-pronouncing the Italian words. He couldn’t help but wish that Sebastian were here, if only so they could share a commiserating glance every time Mark trilled out “brrrruschetta.”

Mark glanced up at him expectantly, and Drew realized he’d missed a question. He quickly backtracked, forcing out a smile. “Uh, yeah. Yes. I like calamari.”

“Oh, that’s great! See, I knew we would get along!” Mark beamed. His phone beeped and he slid it out. “Pats scored again!”

Drew nodded, drawing a pattern on the linen tablecloth with his forefinger. “That’s great.”

“Celebration time!” Mark announced, and Drew stifled a sigh as Mark lifted a finger to signal their waiter.

“A bottle of Cristal, please. Something from before… let’s say, 2006.” Mark smiled wide, like the world’s most pretentious shark, and Drew imagined what Bas would have said about celebrating a football score with a $200 bottle of champagne.

“We have a 2005, sir,” the waiter offered.

“Perfect,” Mark agreed, delighted. He looked at Drew and blinked as the waiter departed. “Oh, I suppose I should have checked with you! You do like champagne, don’t you?”

All the blinking made him look like a turtle. A turtle wearing a curly brown wig. And his dirty-green eyes seemed dull and… even a little bit smug. Nothing like the intelligent fire in a certain pair of blue eyes.

“Not much, no. But then, I don’t really drink that often, and hardly ever on a first date,” Drew told him with a small smile. “You go ahead.”

Mark pouted, sticking his lower lip out. “But champagne’s no fun unless you share it. You’ll have one glass, won’t you?”

“Oh. No, I really…”

“One tiny little glass,” Mark insisted. “It’s just that I feel like I’ve been waiting forever to get you on this date. You have no idea. We need to celebrate!”

Ugh. Drew had been afraid of exactly this - encouraging Mark by agreeing to this date. He didn’t want to hurt the man’s feelings, but as he’d once told Bas, he could only be guilted so far.

“One glass,” he agreed, firmly intending to dump the glass into the small potted tree that the universe had conveniently placed just inches from their table. He cleared his throat and cast around for polite conversation. “So… how was your holiday?”

“Perfect,” Mark said. “I went skiing with some friends!”

He pantomimed holding a set of ski poles, complete with swishing sounds, while a tiny part of Drew’s soul died.

“That’s, uh… perfect,” Drew agreed.

Mark checked his phone again, frowning.

“Did the other team score?” Drew asked. It was a good thing he had little invested in this date, or else he might have been slightly offended.

“Pardon?”

“Your phone,” Drew said patiently. “Is it the score.”

“Oh. Uh. Yes. Yeah, the score.” Mark put his phone away again and focused his brilliant, sharky smile on Drew. “What were we saying?”

“We were talking about Christmas. I spent my holiday in New York. With my mother.”

Mark’s eyes widened. “Oh, wow. Your mother? I had no idea she was still alive. That’s so great!”

Only a decade spent in and around courtrooms prevented Drew’s jaw from dropping open. Who said shit like this?

He cleared his throat. “So, Mark. I’m afraid I forgot some of the details from our first meeting, but tell me more about your work.” And then Drew put his chin back into his hand and nodded without listening as Mark launched into what any fool could predict would be an exhaustive rundown of the financial services “game.”

So much for trying to put honest effort into your date. This was what came of trying to do the right thing.

Bas’s words from earlier echoed in his head. “Sometimes you need to make your own right path - one that’s true to who you are. And trying to love people, to forgive them for being blind and stupid, is generally always the right way.” The words had stunned him at the time, but as he thought about them now, he realized they were not only true, but completely Bas. Sebastian Seaver was not a person who played well by other people’s rules, and he sometimes played fast and loose with legalities. But when it came to his family, to Drew, that meant there was no limit to what Bas would do to keep them safe.

And Drew was starting to believe that there was no limit to how many times they’d find their way back to one another, either. They’d done it back when they were stupid teenagers, for God’s sake. After Bas had proposed to Amy. After Drew had dated Cam. And then again after Halloween.

Drew was a fortunate man in many ways, but if it had been the sum total of his life’s luck to simply be born in Sebastian Seaver’s sphere, then Drew would still have been the luckiest bastard on the planet.

Drew clenched his fingers under the table, thinking of the way he and Bas had left things, how angry Bas had been. And with good reason, considering Drew had been a total hypocrite. Stay safe, Bas. Don’t take risks, Bas. You have nothing to prove, Bas. And yet here was Drew, suffering through the world’s most boring date while somewhere out there, Bas was worried about him.

Mark’s droning cut off as his phone sounded yet again.

“We can reschedule, if you want,” Drew offered. Please say yes, please say yes.

He checked his own phone to see if he had any messages from Sebastian, but there was nothing.

“Oh, no!” Mark said. “No, not at all.” He gave Drew an apologetic smile. “In fact, I’m going to shut my phone off and leave it right here.” He winked. “So I won’t be tempted. And you know what?”

He reached out and snagged Drew’s phone from his hand. Before Drew could protest, he placed both phones face-down in the center of the table, a set of twins with matching jet-black cases. “Now both of us can concentrate on our conversation,” he said happily, then leaned forward, like Drew might just reveal the secrets of the universe. “Tell me more about what makes Drew McMann tick.”

“Excuse me, sir. Your champagne?” the waiter said. And Drew could almost imagine the server giving him a sympathetic glance.

“Yes, yes,” Mark agreed excitedly, and Drew looked longingly at his phone as the waiter poured their champagne and they both sipped cautiously.

“Perfect!” Mark enthused. “Isn’t it perfect, Drew?”

“Very good,” Drew told the waiter. “Thanks.”

The waiter nodded. “Are you ready to order?”

“I think we need some more—” Mark began, just as Drew said, “We’re ready.”

“Oh,” Mark said. “But we hadn’t even talked about getting a variety of entrees to share.”

Kill me now. “You know, I’m really just in the mood for a steak.” Drew gave an apologetic shrug. “Maybe another time.”

“Yes! Yes, next time,” Mark agreed, waving his arms so enthusiastically that he knocked his menu into Drew’s water glass, sending it spilling across the table and onto Drew’s lap before rolling onto the floor and shattering.

“Fuck!” Drew said, jumping up and mopping at his jeans with his napkin.

“Be careful sir,” the waiter warned, picking up the larger pieces of glass. “I’ll get a broom.”

“Here, let me help,” Drew offered, bending down to help him despite the waiter’s protests.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! So, so sorry. So very sorry!” Mark was bleating, and Drew could only sigh. There were signs, and then there were signs. He should excuse himself before the universe intervened any further, he thought wryly, because someone might get hurt.

“Listen, Mark,” he said, resuming his seat as the waiter hurried away for a broom. “I really think…”

But Mark was guzzling his glass of champagne, nearly in tears. “I’m so very sorry, Drew! God, I looked forward to hanging out with you for so long, and now this. I can’t believe I’ve ruined everything.”

“You didn’t,” Drew assured him, and it wasn’t a lie, since the date hadn’t been going anywhere, anyway. “Really. I’m just tired tonight.”

“You haven’t even had any champagne!” Mark wailed, and moisture trickled from the corner of his eye.

Fuck.

Drew lifted the glass to his lips and took a deep sip, barely suppressing his shudder. He really didn’t like champagne, and this bottle was particularly bitter. “See? Yum,” he said. “But I really am tired. Maybe we could…”

“You might feel better if you get some food in you,” Mark said. “Really! Perks me right up.”

Drew sighed, then smiled tightly. “Alright. Fine.” He really was hungry, and West Kitchen did a great steak. “Just a quick dinner.”

Mark’s sharky smile reappeared and his eyes glittered intensely - so intensely that Drew was sure he’d misread them. He glanced back at Mark curiously, but Mark had already turned his head, like he was appreciating the decor once again.

The waiter reappeared, tidying their mess and taking their dinner order. Drew got his steak, and Mark ordered some complex octopus-and-fennel dish in his faux-Italian accent.

“Gosh, this is good!” Mark said, pouring himself a second glass of champagne. “Have some more,” he encouraged Drew.

Drew looked at his nearly-full glass and wished he’d asked the waiter to bring him a new glass of water. He took a small sip of the bitter bubbly, knowing that Bas would mock him relentlessly if he could see Drew now, wearing soggy pants and sipping disgusting champagne.

“So! You work with Sebastian Seaver,” Mark said, and for a moment Drew wondered if he’d spoken Bas’s name out loud.

“Uh, yeah. For quite a few years now,” Drew agreed. “Seaver Tech is a great company to work for.”

Mark shook his head sadly. “Your loyalty is commendable,” he said. “I don’t think I could do it.”

“Do what?”

“You know. Work with a man like… that.”

“Pardon?” Drew employed the lawyer voice at its most-frigid.

But Mark didn’t seem to get the message. “A man like Sebastian Seaver. Is it true about the fits?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Drew said angrily. He was attempting to keep his temper, but he could feel his temperature rising. He yanked the sleeves of his expensive sweater up to his elbows and took a deep drink of the champagne, shuddering as he swallowed.

“Calm down,” Mark said, all wide-eyed innocence. “I just meant that the press says he’s… you know… unstable.”

“No, I don’t know! I have never heard a single thing about that. And it’s absolutely, categorically untrue!” Drew shook his head, and anger made his vision blur, the tiny white lights of the restaurant flashing intensely in his peripheral vision. “Sebastian Seaver is a genius.”

“Alright,” Mark said mildly. “If you say so.” He smiled his stupid fucking smile, the one with way too many teeth, and watched Drew’s escalating anger like he was watching a fascinating display at a zoo. “I heard that he lost his mind after his parents died, is all.”

“You read the tabloids?” Drew demanded. “How does this not surprise me? Well, if you did, then you know I lost my sister at the same time he lost his parents. So how about a little respect?”

Mark put his hands up. “I apologize!” he insisted. “I’m just repeating what I’ve heard. He’s insane, but everyone covers for him because he’s a money-maker.”

Drew pushed himself to his feet, shaking with anger. No one was allowed to talk about Sebastian that way. Ever. He braced a hand on the table, leaning toward Mark.

“You just repeat what you’ve heard?” Drew mocked softly, dangerously. “Then let me give you something new to repeat. Sebastian Seaver is the best human being I have ever known. He’s loyal, he’s loving, he’s kind. He would do anything to take care of his family. And yeah, he’s a goddamn genius, but that is the smallest part of what makes him amazing. Any person would be lucky, lucky, to have him in their life. I love him more than anything in this universe, and I’ll be damned if a twat like you runs him down in my hearing.” Drew’s knees swayed as temper had blood pounding in his ears. “And? He knows how to fucking pronounce bruschetta, you pretentious prick.”

Drew straightened with difficulty, and Mark seemed almost amused by his distress… until he caught sight of something over Drew’s shoulder.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

A warm, strong arm wrapped around Drew’s waist, holding him up when he would have sunk back into his seat.

“Did you mean that?” a voice whispered in his ear — the best voice in the world, the only voice Drew wanted to hear.

“Which part?” Drew whispered, leaning back against Bas without thought. And sure enough, Bas’s solid strength held him up, supporting Drew when he would have fallen.

Bas had rested his face against the crook of Drew’s neck, and Drew felt the warmth of Bas’s breath on his skin as Bas chuckled. “I kind of expected you to be pissed that I was crashing your date.”

Drew stiffened and glared at Mark, who was staring around the restaurant, as if praying for reinforcements. “This date was over anyway,” he told Mark, disgusted.

Bas turned him around. “We need to talk,” he began, then he looked into Drew’s eyes and frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Ye-Yesh,” Drew said. His lips weren’t working properly. “I’m just pissed off.”

Bas shook his head. “I’ve seen you pissed off, McMann. Your cheeks get flushed and your eyes go cold. Right now your eyes are glassy and your skin is…” He lifted a hand and cradled Drew’s cheek. “Icy.”

He turned to glare at Mark, and in all their thirty years of friendship, Drew couldn’t remember ever seeing Sebastian so angry or so dangerous. “What the fuck did you do to him?” he demanded.

“Me? I… Nothing! He had, like, half a glass of champagne!” Mark squeaked, scraping his chair back from the table in an attempt to get away. He pushed himself to his feet. “I didn’t do anything!”

“If I find out differently, fucker…”

“Let’s go, Bas,” Drew said. He looked around the restaurant quickly and saw that every eye in the place was on them, some more overtly than others.

“Drew, you’re on a date with me,” Mark said, stepping forward. “If you’re not feeling well, I can help you home.”

“No. Way. In. Hell,” Bas informed him. “You’re not going to fucking touch him. And if I find out that you were attempting to get him drunk—”

“He wasn’t,” Drew said, torn between outrage, amusement, and bone-deep satisfaction at Sebastian’s overprotectiveness. “I barely had two sips of champagne.” He smoothed a soothing hand down Bas’s chest, dimly aware that this was not usual for them, but it felt right and it seemed to work.

“You haven’t even had your steak!” Mark bleated, and Drew almost, almost felt guilty again. “You need to stay!”

Drew fumbled for the wallet in his back pocket, and Bas helped him extract some cash that he threw in the center of the table. “Really, this is for the best,” he told Mark over his shoulder. He added apologetically, “You’re not my type.”

Bas snorted, grabbing Drew’s jacket from the back of his chair and helping Drew’s heavy arms into the sleeves. He wrapped an arm around Drew’s waist, supporting him to the door.

“Oh.” Drew patted his pockets. “My phone. It’s in the middle of the table.” He rolled his eyes. “Could you grab it for me?”

“Happy to,” Bas whispered, and Drew focused all his attention on standing straight. His head was way fuzzier than it should have been.

He heard Bas say something to Mark in a low voice, and Mark’s angry reply. He turned his head just in time to see Bas punch Mark in the jaw, sending him sprawling on the floor.

The other patrons gasped and cried out, but the waiter ran forward to “assist” Mark, while really keeping him pinned to the floor. He turned and gave Drew a nod, and Drew smiled in reply.

Bas grabbed something off the table and hurried back to Drew.

“Feel better?” Drew asked. He could still feel the tension coiled in Bas’s body, but it seemed to dissipate somewhat as he let Bas take more of his weight.

“Not really,” Bas muttered. “What were you thinking? That guy is an asshole.”

“I was thinking that was the best I could expect of anyone who wasn’t you,” Drew admitted.

Bas squeezed his eyes shut for a second, then pushed the restaurant door open. The air outside was hard and painfully cold, frigid enough to penetrate some of the cotton wrapped around Drew’s brain. He paused as Bas towed him down the street toward Drew’s own car. “How did you get here?”

“Cort,” Bas said succinctly. He pushed a hand through his hair, his breath suspended in the air like fog. “Keys?”

Drew extracted them from his coat pocket and handed them over.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Drew told him slowly. “I’m so sleepy.”

“Fuck.” Bas opened the passenger’s side door and helped Drew into the seat, leaning over him to fasten his seatbelt. “We should call the police.”

“No.” Drew shook his head, sucking in a deep breath when the action made him nauseous. “No police.”

“Drew,” Bas began, squatting on the sidewalk by the open car door. “Baby, listen. He must have put something in your drink.”

“Couldn’t,” Drew said. “It was champagne.” He made a face. “Disgusting shit.”

“It would only have taken a drop of something,” Bas insisted.

Drew shook his head again. Whoa. Jesus. Everything spun. “He’s just so pretentious. I wanted you there to laugh with.”

“Shhh. It’s okay,” Bas told him, stroking a hand over Drew’s face. His fingers were so warm, and his touch so proprietary, Drew closed his eyes to savor it.

“I wanted you there,” he insisted, because it was important that Bas understand. “I wanted you. With me.”

“I know. I wanted to be with you, too,” Bas said hoarsely, sliding his fingers back into Drew’s hair. Drew arched into the touch. “But are you sure you don’t want to call the police?”

“No police,” Drew insisted. He shook his head again, which seemed like a massive mistake as what little he’d eaten earlier that day seemed to revolt. He’d barely had time to unbuckle his belt and push Bas back before he vomited on the pavement.

He curled around himself, chest heaving, and let Bas shift him back into the car and shut the door. He was vaguely aware of Bas starting the engine, turning the heat on high, rubbing his hand lightly over Drew’s back.

“I’m okay,” Drew whispered, not sure if he was talking to Bas or to himself. “I’m fine.”

“I should have hit him harder,” Bas mumbled.

Bas’s phone chimed, a different sound than Drew had heard earlier, and he wasn’t sure why that bugged him, but it did.

“What’s wrong with your phone?” he demanded.

“Not my phone. Yours,” Bas said.

“Not mine.”

Bas took the phone from his pocket and looked at the screen, then up at Drew. “Mark’s,” he whispered. “Fuck. Did I take the wrong one? It looks just like yours.”

Drew nodded. “They looked the same.”

Bas’s face reddened as he read whatever message had popped up on the screen.

“Whass it say?” he forced out.

Bas sighed, and Drew could see that he didn’t want to tell him, but he did. “It says ‘Our date should be ready for action now. Lead him out the back.’” Bas cleared his throat.

Drew resisted the urge to vomit again, breathing shakily through his nose. It had been intentional.

“I am going to make that man’s life a fucking misery,” he vowed. “Plaster his face all over social media. He will never have another moment’s peace for the rest of his life.”

Bas’s eyes, when he turned them toward Drew, were molten. “That won’t be very long,” he swore. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”

Drew laid his hand atop Sebastian’s, where it rested on the steering wheel, and felt the shudder that moved through Bas at the simple contact. “I’m fine, Bas.”

Bas’s nostrils flared, and he nodded once. “You will be,” he promised. He flipped his hand over and threaded his fingers with Drew’s.

For a moment, Drew wished he were a little less foggy-headed, so he could commit every second of this to memory - the warm slide of Bas’s palm against his, the way their fingers knitted together perfectly. But it wouldn’t be the last time they held hands; Drew would make sure of it. He was through resisting. If Sebastian wanted to experiment, Drew would gladly donate himself to the cause.

“Where are we going?” Drew asked, noting that they weren’t heading toward his house.

“That guy has your phone,” Bas said, shaking his head. “I have no idea whether he’s capable of opening it…”

“It was locked, I think,” Drew said, rubbing his free hand over his forehead.

“It’s okay. I can wipe it remotely,” Bas told him. “But just in case, I don’t want to take you back to your place. We’ll spend the night at mine.”

Drew swallowed hard. We.

Bas squeezed his fingers. “That okay?” he asked, glancing at Drew. But it felt like he was really asking something different. Something bigger. Something like, “Do you trust me?”

And the answer to that was the same as it had always been.

A clear and unequivocal “Yes.”