“JESUS, I HAD no idea it’d be this busy tonight.” Robbie Bianchi sidled up to where Logan stood at the blender on Wednesday night, a bottle of Grey Goose in hand.

“Holiday get-togethers,” Logan said as he poured a pink, fruity concoction into a tall glass, then added a cherry and an umbrella. “People are either last-minute traveling or—”

“Last-minute drinking,” Tate said as he came up beside Robbie and reached for the bottle of Patrón on the back shelf.

Logan had taken the day off so he could be on hand at The Popped Cherry tonight, knowing it would help Tate out, and also because, well, he loved the holiday crowd—and the night before Thanksgiving was one of their busiest.

For the most part, people were extremely happy this time of the year. There was, of course, the occasional lone drinker at the bar who was there to drown their sorrows, but even then, Logan liked the challenge of raising their spirits.

He enjoyed falling into the role of bartender on nights like tonight. He’d do it again leading up to Christmas too, but the one holiday both he and Tate agreed was theirs from the very first year of opening was New Year’s.

“I guess I hadn’t really thought about that,” Robbie said as he mixed the Bénédictine liqueur and triple sec in with the Grey Goose. “All the places I’ve ever worked at closed, so I just hung out with the family, you know?”

Logan scooped some ice into the tumbler he held and quickly made a whiskey sour before adding a wedge of lemon. “That makes sense. The first year we were open, I didn’t believe Tate when he said we’d make a killing.”

Robbie laughed and looked to Tate. “But you were right?”

Tate grabbed two bottles of Corona, and said, “Damn right. He never doubted me again.”

Logan raised an eyebrow at Tate’s smug expression. “Whatever. Go serve your customer or your boss will get angry.”

Tate chuckled as he walked back to the bar and slid the beers across the counter, and as he did, Logan finished up with the second drink he was making while Robbie collected the money for his Between the Sheets cocktail.

About to go and serve his customer, Logan didn’t see Robbie come up behind him until he grabbed his arm.

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh. My. God.”

Logan looked at the fingers digging into his bicep and then slowly raised his gaze to Robbie’s wide eyes and pink cheeks. He looked seriously flustered, but as Logan looked over his shoulder at the people sitting and standing at the bar, he didn’t spot anyone out of the ordinary. Tate was all the way down at the other end with Bianca, but other than a steady stream of people, Logan saw nothing unusual.

“Do you plan to elaborate?” Logan said. “Or are you just now finding yourself unable to believe the musculature of my arms?”

Robbie didn’t even flinch. He merely gestured with a tilt of his head to the right, and when Logan turned to look, he said, “Don’t look. Don’t look,” and Logan laughed.

“Why not?”

“Oh my God. Are you not wearing your contacts tonight?”

“Robbie. Do you want to wear this drink tonight?”

“No, but how can you not see who is sitting at the other end of your bar?”

Logan looked in the mirror that ran the length of the wall, and this time let his eyes scan the patrons for someone familiar. He saw no one.

There was a group of women midway down laughing and sipping chocolate martinis. Beside them was a couple who were working their way through a bottle of champagne, celebrating the holiday, and then beside them sat—

Oh, there you are, Logan thought. The object of Robbie’s freak-out.

A man in a grey turtleneck, probably early-thirties, if Logan had to guess, had settled in at the far end of the bar, and Logan had to admit that even from where he was standing with Robbie, the man was hard to miss.

He was arresting in a don’t fuck with me kind of way. It was the way he sat all alone, yet was totally unaffected by it. Unlike the sad, lonely types, that man was alone because he chose to be that way. That much was obvious by the women who kept sneaking glances at him. He had striking features that looked cruel and harsh, but something about them worked for him, along with the tight, short haircut he was sporting.

“Look at his lips,” Robbie said in Logan’s ear.

“I don’t look at people’s lips—”

“Bullshit,” Robbie said. “That’s the first thing you look at.”

“The first thing I used to look at. I’m reformed.”

“Are you dead, too? Because that is Julien Thornton, and he is hot as fuck.”

Logan racked his brain, trying to locate the name, but it didn’t ring any bells. “Am I supposed to know who that is?”

“Ugh,” Robbie said, and all but stamped his foot. “You’re hopeless. How am I supposed to enjoy this moment, and act all—”

“Stupid?”

“—excited, when you don’t even know how monumental this is?”

Logan arched an eyebrow at Robbie’s pouting face and was struck by how nice it was to see that expression again. “Okay, how about you let me go and deliver these drinks and then you can tell me how monumental this is. Or better yet, why don’t you just go and serve him?”

“Are you insane? That’s Julien ‘the Prick’ Thornton.”

Logan’s eyes widened at the nickname, but he bit back a laugh. “Yes. We established that much. But I still have no idea who he is.”

“He was the winner of Chef Master. You know, the reality show? Now he’s only one of the most famous chefs in the world. I watched every episode he was on. He’s rich, he cooks, he speaks fluent French, he’s gorgeous, and he’s gay. I can’t talk to him. Look at him.”

Ahh, okay then. Logan laughed as he turned around and served his customers. Once he’d collected their money, he crossed his arms and eyed Robbie. Then he raised his gaze to once again look at Julien. “Okay, if you’re not going to go and serve him, I will.”

Just as Logan suspected, Robbie blocked his path and adamantly shook his head. “Uh uh. Not you.”

“Why not me? If you’re not going to do it, then—”

“Bianca can do it.”

Logan looked out over the crowd and shrugged. “Bianca’s busy. I’m not. So…”

Robbie placed a hand on Logan’s chest. “No. If you go over there then he won’t be able to think about anyone else, a.k.a. me.”

Logan’s lips twitched and he almost—almost—felt bad for teasing Robbie. But this was the first time he’d seen the guy show interest in anyone in months, and he was enjoying playing with him. “Look, just be sure to stand here and not frown, okay? And if he’s into cute blonds with pouty mouths, a.k.a. you, this will be a no-brainer.”

When Robbie’s eyes flicked up to find Logan’s, he winked at their bar manager and then headed off to take the Prick’s order.

* * *

AS THE MAIN rush of the night eased, Tate headed back to the bar with an empty tray in search of Logan, only to find him down at the other end serving a customer. He lifted the bar pass and spotted Robbie standing with his hip propped up against the back counter, fiddling with one of the bar towels, and as Tate got closer, he looked back over to Logan, who’d just shifted to grab a menu for the customer. That was when Tate noticed who Logan was talking to.

Holy shit, is that Julien Thornton? Tate remembered how obsessed Diana had been with him back when he was on Chef Master. That had to be, what? Six or seven years ago? Last he’d heard, the temperamental man had gone on to become one of the most sought-after chefs in the world.

As he racked his brain for any and all facts about the man he’d been subjected to watching for around five months of his life, Tate recalled everything he knew, right down to, and most importantly, considering Logan was over there casually leaning against the counter looking sexy as hell: the fucker is gay.

Tate came up behind Robbie, and when he was close enough that Robbie noticed, he glanced over his shoulder and aimed a tight smile Tate’s way.

“Is that who I think it is?” Tate asked, and only when Robbie’s eyebrows close to hit his hairline did he realize how pissed off his question sounded.

“Uh, who do you think it is?”

“Julien Thornton.”

“Oh my God,” Robbie said, and whirled around, clapping his hands together. “You’ve heard of him? Gah, finally. Isn’t he just…everything?”

The dreamy sigh coming out of Robbie had Tate looking over to where Logan was now walking back toward them, and Julien was watching his departure. “Yeah, just everything,” Tate said in a droll tone. “Who hasn’t heard of him?”

“Uh, Logan?” Robbie said.

“That’s not surprising. He rarely watches television, and especially not reality shows.”

Robbie rolled his eyes. “Why, is he too intellectual for that?”

Tate was about to answer just as Logan came to a stop in front of them and asked, “Too intellectual for what?”

“Oh, who cares,” Robbie whispered, and then peered around Logan’s shoulder. “What did you say to him? Did he ask about me?”

“Yeah. What did you say to Julien Thornton?” Tate said as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Logan frowned, before asking Tate, “You know who he is?”

“I do. I also know he’s—”

“Gay?” Robbie interjected, and Tate glared at him. “What? I assume that’s why you’re suddenly acting like you have a stick shoved up your—”

“Yes,” Tate said. “I know he’s gay. I also know he’s looking over here, and it’s pissing me off.”

As Logan came closer, he ran a hand down Tate’s arm and squeezed his bicep. “Oh, I like that. You look like you want to go over there and kick his ass.”

“The night’s still young,” Tate said, his jaw beginning to tick when he saw that Julien was still looking in their direction.

“That it is,” Logan said, and then looked at Robbie. “And Julien Thornton requested a certain blond come and serve him for the rest of it.”

Robbie’s eyes widened and his jaw practically hit the ground, and once he got over the initial shock of what Logan had said, he swatted him on the arm. “He did not. Wait…what did you say to him?”

Logan opened his mouth to respond, but before he even got a word out, Robbie said, “Hell, what do I care? If he wants me to serve him, the only thing I plan to ask is when and how many times.”

Tate let his attention move back to the man Robbie was currently fantasizing about, and he found that Julien was, in fact, zeroed in on their bar manager. Well, good for Robbie, and lucky for Julien.

“You better get going, then,” Tate said. “We like to keep our customers happy.”

Robbie flashed Tate and Logan both a grin and then twisted the towel nervously in his hands. “Okay, ummm. But what if he—”

Before Robbie could finish his thought, Logan grabbed one end of the towel and tugged him forward to say in his ear, “Just be yourself. That’s how you got me.”

Robbie swallowed as his eyes ping-ponged between Logan and then Tate, and then he nodded and headed off in the direction of the celebrity chef.

Logan then kissed Tate’s temple and said, “You’re seriously hot when you get jealous.”

“Hmm. Well, I don’t like people looking at what’s mine.”

“Oh?” Logan laughed. “He was looking, was he?”

“Yes. So I want to know, is he really interested in Robbie? Or are you just fucking with him?”

Logan nipped at Tate’s lobe. “I don’t fuck with anyone but you. But yes, Julien whatever-his-last-name-is—”

“Thornton.”

“And how do you know that? Maybe I should be worried.”

“Don’t be,” Tate said, his tone gruff. “Diana used to watch him religiously. It was almost as painful as the divorce.”

“Ahh, okay. Well, yes, Julien Thornton is definitely interested in Robbie. In fact, before I even got my greeting out, he was bonjour-ing me and asking the name of the cute blond behind the bar.”

Tate sized up the two men at the other end of the counter and saw that Robbie was now laughing outrageously at something Julien had obviously said, and was moving to lean over the counter and playfully shove against his arm. When he did, Julien caught Robbie’s wrist and aimed a be careful look at him, before wagging his finger.

“Oh, shit,” Logan said, then chuckled. “That boy is about to get in so much trouble.”

Tate had a feeling that Logan was right. Julien’s expression was arrogance personified. With a slight smirk on his lips and knowing eyes locked with Robbie’s, Julien scribbled something on a napkin and handed it to him. Then, as Robbie slowly backed away, Tate saw Julien run his tongue along his lower lip much the same way Logan did when he was on the hunt.

Yeah, Robbie was in trouble, all right. But when he turned around and practically bounded back to them waving the napkin excitedly, Tate had a feeling he was looking forward to it.

“Say hello to my future husband, boys,” Robbie said, and batted his lashes. “I think I’m in love.”