It’s a New Year and there’s more new content coming for the original fiction version of Tuesday Nights. Like I’ve said before, if you think you know the story, think again! Chapter Four will be up on Patreon in a week or so, but Chapters One through Three are available to everyone who becomes a Patron!
https://www.patreon.com/chibinightowl
I also want to thank the amazing @snowzapped for partnering with me to bring Jacob and Skye to life. Most of the art for this story will be available to everyone, but anything NSFW will be locked to Patrons only.
(Clearly, Jacob knows how to pick and choose his battles already.)
Maybe Random 36: that was kind of hot, with your OCS? 😊 🥾
“That was kind of hot,” Jacob says as Skye lowers his phone, still looking rather peeved about the fact it even rang at all. Dinner dates are rare occasions for the two of them, so everyone knows that time is sacred.
“I just ripped Sean a new one. How on earth is that hot?”
Reaching across the table, Jacob gestures for Skye’s hand and tangles their fingers together when he meets him in the middle. “I don’t get to see the bossy side of you very often. All large and in charge.”
Skye’s lips quirk upward. “You’re not usually around when Sean calls. He’s kind of a dick when he doesn’t get his way.”
“I thought that was Alex?”
“Alex can go fuck himself off the top of Willis Tower for all I care.”
Jacob squeezes lightly. “Just take a deep breath. Sean still giving you shit for dating a guy?”
Skye leans back in his chair and sighs, not letting go even though their arms are both extended to the fullest now. “He wants me to babysit this weekend.”
“I don’t see a problem with that. Bring her by the bar and she can have all the chicken drummies she wants.”
“Overnight.”
“Oh.” Jacob scowls. He likes Skye’s niece, he really does, but kids are a cockblock and a half. Saturday night, he’s got plans. “Fuck that. That’s our time. Send her to grandpa’s house. She’ll have a ball.”
“Archer’s out of town.”
All his careful plans for their one year anniversary are spiraling down the drain. “What about Ran? Or Amber? Amber’s always up for making an extra buck.”
Skye smiles and shakes his head. “Weren’t you listening? I told him to find his own babysitter, that this weekend is important to you and me and that he can try to seduce his wife into giving him the time of day again another night. It’s been this long, one more weekend won’t make a difference.”
“I stopped paying attention after you told him to fuck off and listen to you in that bossy voice.” Jacob’s grin is on the edge of a leer and he doesn’t care. “Like I said. It was kinda hot.”
Pale blue eyes spark as Skye finally gets it. “Are you trying to tell me to use that tone in bed?”
“Who needs a bed when I have a perfectly good office to get fucked in?”
“You still haven’t replaced the chair after last time.”
“It’s called a desk, Skye. I fit on it just as well as you do.”
@txbookeater messaged with: Oh! Oh! 24, 28, 33 with Jacob and Skye. I hope you can get the Muse working with you again!
Hon, you need all the nice things I can throw at you right now. *hugs*
---
Under normal circumstances, Jacob doesn’t exactly enjoy sleeping beside his boyfriend. Skye has a tendency to sprawl far beyond what his body should even be capable of, sending him to the farthest reaches of the bed where he has no room to move. A bed that he purchased with the intention of sharing it with at least two other people on occasion, so that makes the feat even more impressive.
But this? Yeah, he could get used to this.
Skye is stretched out on his back, arms and legs nearly in the same position as they were when Jacob deposited him in bed earlier this morning. He’d partied a little too hard with his friends last night and while they grabbed an Uber back to their hotel, Jacob hauled Skye’s ass upstairs to his apartment where he wouldn’t choke on his vomit when he wakes up. He’s seen him drunk before, but this? This is some new levels of shit-faced.
Someone’s hangover is going to be spectacular and he can’t wait to make Skye’s life even more miserable when he finally wakes up. For now, Jacob luxuriates in stretching whichever way he wants in his own damned bed.
The call of nature soon rears its ugly head though, forcing Jacob from the warm confines. Once he’s up, he’s up, so there’s no point in trying to recapture that perfect moment of utter bliss. Skye calls it perfect comfy and he’s not far off the mark.
When he emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later, he pauses by the bed to stare down at the man who has in many ways utterly changed his life. Hard to believe this drooling mess cleans up so pretty, all sharp in his suits and ties.
He likes both versions, to be honest. But this one, he will admit to liking more because only he gets to see it. Skye Rhoades, with all his defenses down.
The man in question shifts in bed, lips tightening in a grimace.
Jacob knows that expression all too well and grabs the lined trashcan he’d placed beside the bed earlier. Sitting down on the edge of the mattress, he carefully forces the still drooling mess to sit up and places the bin in his lap.
Skye hisses at the movement, eyes cracking open briefly before shutting again.
“Did you just hiss at me?” Jacob questions, fairly certain his boyfriend is still more asleep than awake.
Another low hiss is his answer, but this time, hands clutch at the trashcan.
“If you can walk, I’d prefer this happen in the bathroom.”
“Me too,” Skye murmurs, weakly.
It takes some very cautious maneuvering to get him out of bed and upright. Skye doesn’t help much at all, holding on to the trashcan like it’s the only thing in his world that matters. Which, to be fair, it is since Jacob fully intends to make him scrub the floor if he vomits and misses. He has to clean up after drunks downstairs, not upstairs in his own home.
They make it to the bathroom doorway before the inevitable happens. Skye falls to his knees, mostly guided by Jacob as he hits the floor, face buried in the trashcan as he gets sick.
When he’s done, he leans against the doorframe and blinks blearily, eyes unfocused as his brain reboots. At least he was smart enough to wear his glasses the night before. Dealing with contacts with eyes that bloodshot would be a bitch.
“Welcome back,” Jacob says when those pale blue eyes start to have some semblance of life in them again. He holds out his hand. “Now fucking help me.”
“Huh?”
Okay, so maybe he isn’t quite as online as he’d thought.
Jacob waves his hand, watching as Skye tracks it. “Take my hand and get your drunk ass up. If you’re getting sick again, you’re doing it in the toilet.”
It takes some effort, but Skye releases the death-grip on the bin and accepts the help up, then makes his way to the toilet on coltish legs. He falls back to the ground with a grateful sigh and leans against the cool porcelain.
“How drunk was I?” he eventually asks, sounding more coherent.
“Pretty drunk. Your buddy Curt can really knock them back, can’t he?” The question is rhetorical, but Skye gives a small nod in return.
“Damn farm-boy genes.”
“He’s probably been drinking beer since he could walk. You, on the other hand, should stick to liquor if you’re going to get plastered.” Some people just can’t handle beer. Just like others can’t deal with vodka or whiskey. In his line of work, he’s seen them all. Skye definitely isn’t a beer person, no matter how much he pretends to be when he’s trying to be just one of the guys.
Jacob gestures over to the abandoned trashcan. “You gonna be okay if I go get rid of the evidence?”
“Yeah,” Skye replies, brushing his bangs away from his sweaty brow. “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” Jacob leans over and presses his lips against the top of Skye’s head. “You promised you’d clean up everything if I shut the bar down for your little party last night. When you’re done here, I have a whole sink-load of dishes waiting downstairs for you to wash.”
It’s a new month and that means new content over on Patreon for the original fiction version of Tuesday Nights! Chapter Four is up and Chapter Five will be in a few weeks! For $5 you’ll get access to all the previous chapters too, so come join in the fun! If you think you know Tuesday Nights, then you haven’t seen anything yet.
https://www.patreon.com/chibinightowl
For now, here’s a teaser from Chapter Four beneath the cut!
“Thought we could do with something cold,” he says with a smile that makes Skye’s knees want to just melt. Why is this man so handsome? He doesn’t even seem to realize it either. Okay, he’s a bit of an ass too, but that just adds to the appeal.
“It’s June, there’s no such thing as cold,” Skye manages to reply, setting his beer on the coffee table, then kneels on the floor to remove the sports game from his backpack. It’s now or never. “So, this game should give us some more action. It came standard with this particular system and is still loads of fun.”
“A sports game? Really?” Jacob laughs when he holds up the box for him to see. “You do remember who you’re talking to, right?”
Damn, he did forget, but he presses on regardless. “Yes, but there’s a big difference between watching and playing. Come on, give it a chance.” Skye tosses in a winsome smile of his own for good measure.
Their eyes meet and for a moment, he’s certain Jacob will press the matter, but the man settles back on the sofa and places a bowl of what looks like vanilla ice cream on the coffee table for him.
“Whatever, rich boy. You’re here to school me.”
“We’ll try a couple of the games and if you don’t like them, we can switch to something else. Bowling and golf are pretty fun.”
“Golf?” Jacob asks, head cocked askance.
“Why not?” Skye replies innocently as he changes the discs. “You said you wanted to move around, and this lets us. Or would you rather bowl?”
Jacob shrugs. “Doesn’t really matter. I just don’t have much experience with golf.”
That’s precisely what Skye’s been hoping for. “Not even miniature golf?” he asks instead.
The grin that appears on Jacob’s face is downright filthy. “First and only time I went was with Rory and Wren several years ago. We were drunk and spent more time trying to fuck each other in the dark parts of the course than we did playing the game.”
Skye knows his eyes are wide and doesn’t try to hide it, his imagination already providing helpful imagery of this man trying to bend him over behind some colorful castle while other people wander around them, ignorant of what’s occurring a few feet away in the shadows. Mouth muffled, pants around his knees, large hands firm on his hips as he’s drilled into from behind… Fuck, he might have just discovered a new kink.
“Do I even want to know who won?”
That doesn’t come out like he intends it to, and Jacob laughs loudly, still grinning.
“The actual game? I did. In terms of who came the most times, that went to Wren. My tongue got a workout that night. I think we were celebrating the fact it was finally healed from when I got it pierced.”
Wait, what? Skye leans in, trying to get a glimpse of Jacob’s mouth. “Tongue piercing?”
Obligingly, he sticks out his empty tongue. “Removed it a couple years ago. It was hell on my teeth and dental visits are a bitch when your insurance sucks as bad as mine does.”
Damn, he’s sad to have missed that. “What else do you have pierced? Besides your ears, that is.”
There’s a long pause before Jacob replies. “I think we need to get to know each other a little better before I show you.”
“Huh?” Skye doesn’t get it, not until the other man shifts pointedly and rests a hand over his groin. “Oh. Oh!”
Holy crap, Jacob has his dick pierced. Not in his wildest fantasies did that even register as a possibility. What does that even feel like? What does it look like? Son of a bitch, he’s such a moron. Who even asks such a thing?
Flustered, Skye rises from the floor, imagination in overdrive supplying all kinds of unhelpful suggestions for what Jacob’s cock looks like. Is it a ring? A barbell?
He manages a single step and catches his foot in the strap of his backpack, and lurches forward. Arms flailing, he just wants to run and hide because he’s about to make a complete and utter ass of himself, as well as make friends with Jacob’s floor and get rug-burn on his chin. He and coordination have never been the best of friends, but what a time for it to utterly fail.
What a night.
Skye closes his eyes, preparing to meet his doom, when strong arms catch him, steadying his downward momentum.
“I’m used to people falling for me, but I’ve never had it happen this literally before.”
“Huh?” He looks up and damn, Jacob is right there, face and lips and eyes mere inches from his own. This close, he can see flecks of gold in the green depths.
“Hey.” There’s that crooked smile again, the one he’s been aching for more of, the one that does unfairly amazing things to Jacob’s eyes and wow, he really didn’t shave earlier, did he?
“Hi.” How lame is that? This is his chance. Oh shit, this is his chance and he’s blowing it. Fuck, fuck, fuck —
“I sure hope I haven’t been reading you wrong,” Jacob says, and Skye barely processes the words before warm lips close over his own.
The story is now live on Patreon! Oh, man, I am so excited and nervous to share the adventures, misadventures, and trials of Jacob and Skye, two guys who should probably be very familiar to many of you. The original fic is already so much longer than the fanfic, so I hope you enjoy!
https://www.patreon.com/chibinightowl
Teaser below!
---
Tuesday nights suck. They’re so goddamned slow Jacob often wonders why he even bothers to open the bar at all. With no major sporting events to drive business, all he has before him is one long stretch of seemingly endless summer nights, broken only by the weekend crowd who storm this place for whatever the fuck he comes up with in his small kitchen.
At least the only time he’s wasting right now is his own. There’s a reason his staff is only around on the weekends at this time of year; everything else he can handle without them.
Which is fine because he can use the downtime to catch up on his reading list after the busy first half of the year. No one ever believes a guy of his height and weight is a closet bookworm, but hey, appearances can be deceiving. He’s more than just muscle and a pretty face.
Jacob turns the page, taking a quick look around at the people present before diving back in. Two men sit over by the pool table watching a baseball game on the big screen. Diehard fans, both of them, and ones that he’s known since he bused tables back when Mike was still alive. The game is in the bottom of the fifth, so they’ll be a while, but as soon as they leave, he’s closing. No point in wasting any more money on his electric bill than he needs to.
The sixth inning has just started when the front door opens, letting in a rush of hot and muggy air that smells faintly of trash that isn’t getting picked up until tomorrow. Jacob looks up from his book and frowns.
So much for closing early.
The guy who wanders in has his attention on his phone, looking down and then up like he isn’t sure this is the best idea. He’s a new face around here, young, probably a bit younger than Jacob, with black hair and blue eyes hidden behind some hipster looking glasses, and wearing a navy suit and tie that are way too nice for this neighborhood.
He also looks kind of familiar, but Jacob can’t quite place him, which mildly annoys him because he’s good with faces. This guy’s features are striking enough to stand out, not blend in with the crowd.
Navy Suit Guy sits down at the bar in front of the TV playing reruns of Adventure Time, looking like the old wood and cracked vinyl are about to bite him. Yeah, he’s definitely not from around here.
Jacob sets down his book and wanders over. “Welcome in,” he says by rote, not particularly meaning it tonight. “What can I get you?”
The question appears to startle the guy. “Uh, just water for the moment. With lemon.”
Seriously? This is a bar, not a restaurant, not unless there’s more of these guys on the way and this one is designated driver.
“Sure,” he replies instead. “One sec.”
Ice and water are easy enough, but the only time Jacob breaks out the citrus is on the weekend when he gets more orders for something other than a glass of beer. For shits and giggles, because he’s feeling especially petty at the moment, he finds a small bottle of lime juice in the small fridge behind the bar and squirts some into it.
“Don’t have lemons during the week,” he announces when he sets the small glass down on one of the worn out cardboard coasters he tries to reuse as much as possible. Already, the glass is sweating in the humidity his air conditioner can’t quite dispel. “Have to come back on Saturday for the real thing.”
This time, Navy Suit Guy does look surprised and he fiddles with his glasses as he takes in the slightly muddled water before him. “Uh, thanks.”
“Lemme know if you want anything else.” Jacob wanders away before the guy can reply. The last thing he wants right now is to deal with unpaying customers, especially ones who look like they can afford it and are just being cheap for the sake of it.
He barely has time to pick up his book when the door opens again, this time revealing a blonde woman in a black suit with legs that go on for fucking miles. Trying not to gape, because it’s not everyday someone as gorgeous as his waitress and best friend Wren appears in his doorway, he heads over to the end of the bar where Blondie has taken a seat closest to the door.
Huh, apparently she’s not with Navy Suit Guy.
“Welcome in,” Jacob repeats, this time a little more polite because she’s giving him some serious cop vibes. “What can I get started for you?”
Blondie has brown eyes, which is strange to see on someone with what he thinks is natural blonde hair. It reminds him of Amber’s, his other waitress, just paler. “I’ll have a Shirley Temple.”
That is the last thing he expects her to order and he blinks in surprise. “Sure, be right back.”
The only time he makes these are when he’s babysitting Lisa, mostly as a bribe to keep her holed up in the booth at the back of the bar with all her ‘colors’ and books while he does his job. Amber always gives him shit for sugaring her up when she comes to get her after evening classes at the community college are over.
Not his problem.
He returns with the drink and another worn coaster. “Anything else?”
“I’m good for now, thanks,” she replies, taking him in before returning her attention to the news headlines on the TV screen above.
Well, at least she’s a paying customer.
Still, it doesn’t escape his attention, even when Jacob returns to his book, that her eyes are constantly moving, darting all over the place with very little movement on her part. He thinks about the mob he’s mostly convinced are using the dry cleaners next door as a money laundering front and wonders if she’s here about them.
If she is, it’ll suck ass to try and find a new tenant for the business space. This area isn’t exactly a booming economy and rather than read, he starts mentally adjusting his budget.
After a few minutes, he gives up. Numbers aren’t his thing, they’re Wren’s and that’s what he pays her extra for, to balance his books each month. He heads over to his regulars to check on them and pours another beer for one of them, then makes his way over to Navy Suit Guy who’s still making sad faces at his barely touched water.
Unlike all the young suits Jacob’s met in his life who are so full of energy, drive and the desire to change the goddamned world, this one gives off a sense of weariness that is much more appropriate to someone twice his age. What brought him here tonight? He’s not from this area, that much is certain.
In his experience, the only people who wander in out of nowhere are foodies searching for what they like to call hidden gems, which always makes him laugh. This place isn’t hidden, it’s just on the wrong side of the tracks. At least once a week, some random foodie hipster wanders in, admitting they're here because of what they read online about the limited menu Jacob has developed over the years. Reviews are usually pretty good, even with that one asshole who gave him a single star because some enterprising soul stole his tires while he was in the bar. How is that his fault? The bar’s address is clear as day online, so he knew where he was going.
Moron.
Navy Suit Guy sticks out even more than those hipsters do, although this bar used to cater to the business type way back in the day, before the neighborhood started going to shit. Or so Mike had said when he started grooming him to take over. Mike was full of stories about what Jacob jokingly referred to as the good old days. Some were complete bullshit while others were so un-freaking-believable that they could only be true.
“Decide on anything else?” Jacob asks, leaning against the counter this time, which catches the guy’s attention. “The kitchen closes at ten.”
“Um,” he starts, then clears his throat before trying again. “I heard there are some really good fried pickles here. If I’m in the right place, that is.”
Jacob smirks. He called it, the guy's a foodie. “Yeah, you’re in the right place. Single or double?”
“Double. I haven’t eaten since lunch.” Navy Suit Guy ducks his head down a bit like he expects to be reprimanded for that admission.
“Sure you don’t want something else besides pickles then? The menu’s lean during the week, but I got chicken tenders that cook up fast.” If he’s turning on the fryer, might as well make it worth it.
The man looks thoughtful for a second and then his stomach rumbles so loudly Jacob can hear it from where he’s leaning against the bar. He can’t help the sharp laugh. “I think that answers that question.”
Navy Suit Guy nods, the tips of his ears turning pink. It’s a good look for him. “Yeah, I think you’re right. Better listen to my stomach tonight.”
Jacob shoots him a wink, which only makes the flush grow. Just how far down does it go? The guy’s attractive enough to make him curious. “Gimme a few minutes.”
The small kitchen at the back of the bar is Jacob’s pride and joy. After Mike died and left him with a surprise inheritance, he decided to put some of the newfound money he got back into the place that meant so much to him and the old man. New TVs, an upgraded cable package that included more than just sports channels - he’s a grown ass adult who doesn’t give a shit that he loves cartoons, okay? - with new lights out front because utter gloom just isn’t his thing. But the real work was done in the back where he converted a storeroom into a small industrial kitchen.
With the space to experiment to his heart’s content, Jacob took what he considered bar food mainstays and kicked them up a notch or six. His best friends, Wren and her fiancé Rory, were more than willing to be his guinea pigs. Still are, in fact.
He’s back in a few minutes with the pickles and the spicy aioli, which his odd visitor tucks into with gusto. The chicken takes longer to cook, so Jacob finds himself flipping through his book again, barely reading the words on the pages as he sneaks glances at him. The sense that he’s seen this guy before is growing stronger by the minute.
The small timer he keeps out front pings, so he returns to the kitchen to finish up the rest of the order. Jacob idly wonders what the guy will think of the doctored ketchup and mustard sauces that come with the chicken.
“Anything to drink?” he asks when he sets the basket on the bar beside the plate of half devoured pickles.
Wiping his fingers on the cocktail napkin that came with the pickles, Navy Suit Guy nods, swallowing a mouthful of pickles first. “Jack and coke.”
The order slides easily off the man’s tongue like he’s asked for this a million times, but Jacob is still a bit uncertain about his actual age. Jacob had easily been able to pass for twenty-one when he was still seventeen, thanks to a massive growth spurt and lifting all kinds of heavy shit for Mike. Regular meals and a safe place to sleep helped.
“Let’s see some ID first,” he says. “Those glasses make you look like you’re sixteen.”
A tired laugh escapes the man as he runs a hand through his disheveled black hair. At some point during the day, it may have been styled, but now it’s just a mess. “I get that all the time,” Navy Suit Guy replies and pulls out a wallet from inside his jacket. He slides out his driver’s license and hands it over.
“Then get a new pair,” Jacob states bluntly as he looks at the ID. It’s a bit worn, which makes it look more legit than the fake ones he’s confiscated over the years. But as he reads the birth date, takes a look at the picture, then the name he’s seeing, it finally dawns on him why the guy looks a bit familiar.
Skyler Duncan Rhoades-Dalton
---
For more, see my Patreon! https://www.patreon.com/chibinightowl
Better late than never! This month has been a rough one for me, but things finally seem to be leveling off.
~*~
Skye isn’t entirely sure how to answer, so he responds with a question of his own in an attempt to buy some time. “I thought you didn’t play?”
After spending the last week immersed in his lab with Marcus and making some actual progress, the urge to speak a different kind of geek is strong. This isn’t exactly what he was expecting, not from the book-loving bartender, but he’s not complaining. Video games are right up his alley.
“I don’t, which is why I need some advice.” Jacob sets down the whiskey coke in front of him on a stained little coaster and walks away just long enough to place Sasha’s Shirley Temple on a matching one beside her already open tablet. “This is so far out of my comfort zone.”
“While it’s well within mine.” Skye takes a sip, the carbonation of the soda tickling the roof of his mouth. “There’s a lot to choose from, so how about you give me some context?”
“On Thursdays, I babysit the daughter of one of my waitresses. Just for the summer, since daycare is so fucking expensive and she’s got another job during the day.”
“Is this Amber?” Skye checks, remembering that Jacob has mentioned the other staff before and that they mostly work on the weekend during the slow summer months. How he manages what sounds like full time hours remains a mystery.
“Yeah.” Jacob pours himself a glass of water and settles in against the back counter. The bar is once again devoid of people except for them. “Lisa is six and apparently plays video games with her friends and some computer games at school. I don’t exactly have a lot of stuff sitting around that’s kid friendly, but I’ve seen secondhand games and systems at the store before, so I figured I’d ask you for some help.”
Skye is pretty sure he’s beaming, and that Sasha will give him so much shit for it on the way home. “I’m happy to. I’ve got practically every game system known to man, and there are a ton of all ages games you and Lisa can play together. I assume you want multiplayer games, right?”
Jacob looks more than a little lost, but nods slowly. “I think so. I want games we can just play and not have to take turns or whatever.”
“I can think of several right off the top of my head. Nintendo will probably be the easiest for you to pick up.” A thought occurs to Skye, one that has him mentally checking his calendar for tomorrow night. This could be the chance he’s been waiting for, hoping for, if he were being honest with himself. An answer to the question that’s been preying on his mind since he walked out of here last week. The scientific method has never failed him before, and really, what does he have to lose?
Not a damned thing. Well, except for his pride, but even then, it’s not like Jacob has to know about his desire to get into those pants. Or rip that shirt off and explore the skin beneath it. What is it about this guy that makes him feel this way? The sheer visceral need for another person has never consumed him like this before.
“I assume you want to have this all set up by Thursday?” he asks, trying to get back on track.
“Yeah, that’s the plan, but I won’t lose any sleep if it doesn’t happen. So whaddya suggest?”
The opening couldn’t be more perfect, but Skye’s heart starts to pound from the audacity of what he’s about to say. This is it. Now or never. “What are you doing tomorrow night? It might be easier if you learn to play from someone who knows what they’re doing and can show you how to set things up. I’ve got an old Wii and a few Mario games I’m willing to let you borrow for a week or two; if Lisa likes them, you can go out and buy your own.”
He has a sneaking suspicion that if he looks to his left, Sasha will be giving him that what the hell are you doing glare she’s so good at. But his eyes are on Jacob, who’s clearly locked in an internal battle of his own.
“Are you sure?” the other man asks. “I mean, that’s great and all, but what if something happens to it?”
“I think I know your character well enough to be certain you’ll pay me back if something breaks. Besides, what I’m lending you probably isn’t worth more than a hundred bucks. Maybe one fifty.”
He’s lying through his teeth, the system alone costs about that much these days, but Skye wants Jacob to say yes. He wants to spend some time with him outside the bar and this is so much better than awkwardly asking him out for lunch. Smooth delivery escapes him everywhere except for the office.
But Jacob is nodding slowly, the dazed expression fading as his normal confidence returns. “Okay. You got yourself a deal then. Wednesday nights are almost as slow as Tuesdays right now, so there’s not much point in opening. Where do you want to give this a run? Down here? I live upstairs and have a pretty decent TV there.”
What? Jacob lives where?
A few pieces of Skye’s mental puzzle that is Jacob the Bartender suddenly rearrange themselves. The reading so casually behind the bar. The free rein to experiment in the kitchen. Swearing at his customers. The possessive ‘my’ waitress statement from moments before. Little things he’d overlooked but that were now screaming in his face over how obvious they were.
“You live upstairs?” he checks, just to be sure.
Jacob grins, wide and slightly crooked. “Yeah, didn’t I tell you? I own the place.”
“Son of a fucking bitch.” Goddammit. Assumptions, he’s got to learn to stop making them. Down the way, Sasha’s laughing quietly. At him, no doubt.
“Someone’s got a potty mouth on ‘em.”
“Well, someone just made a complete and utter ass out of himself, so there.” Skye punctuates his statement by taking a large swig of the whiskey coke and nearly chokes when the liquor burns his throat.
It’s a new month on Patreon, which means there’s more Tuesday Nights to share! Here’s a peek at what you’re missing if you’re not subscribed. I love how this is turning out, I really am. A big thank you to everyone who’s supporting me in this endeavor!
https://www.patreon.com/chibinightowl
~*~
A few hours later, Skye can’t help but enter his office in a better mood than when he left it the night before. Last night...how on earth did that even happen? He’s met many handsome bartenders over the years, even before he realized he prefers men to women (so much less drama), but not one has ever turned his head and captured his attention like Jacob did.
He wants to go back. Wants to see that easy smile and those broad shoulders, wants to pick that incredible brain over some other book.
When was the last time he took the time to do something just for him?
Too long apparently if he’s considering driving all the way back to the south side for a pair of stunning green eyes that look like nothing nature could ever create. How are those even real? They have to be; Jacob doesn’t strike him as the type to wear colored contacts just for the heck of it.
Skye sets his travel mug full of coffee on his desk and rummages through his messenger bag for the tablet that always likes to slide around. When his work is done, then he can daydream. Or perhaps not, because look at where his actual dreams led him earlier.
A few minutes after he settles in, there’s a familiar knock at his door and without even waiting, his assistant Ranika pokes her head in. “Morning! Where’s your coffee intake at?”
It’s a running joke between them. Skye usually requires two cups just to get out the door of his brownstone and a third to walk into Dalton Tower. Four cups are required if he has to deal with Alex, his younger brother.
“One. Two if you count this.” He gestures at the half full travel cup. “I got breakfast in the cafeteria too. Did you know their bagel breakfast sandwiches are really good? I should do that more often.”
Ran enters the office and closes the door behind her, dark eyes wide in concern. “Who are you and what did you do to my boss? I’ve never seen you willingly eat before ten.”
“Ha ha.” Skye smiles, thinking again about Jacob and those little fried pickle chips of utter awesomeness. “I had an unexpectedly good night last night.”
“Did you finally get laid? That would explain the appetite.” Ranika crosses the floor quickly, quite the feat considering the height of her heels, and sits down. If they aren’t at least three inches high and sharp enough to poke an eye out, she won’t even touch them for the office. “Details, Skye. Inquiring minds want to know.”
He tosses his stress ball at her, which she catches easily and throws right back. “I didn’t. But I did meet someone...interesting.”
“Even better.” Ran crosses her legs and settles into the chair. “After the day we had...”
“Seriously, right?” Skye sighs and fiddles with the cuff on his sleeve. Today happens to be another suit day, which never fails to set his nerves on edge. Why can’t he just have a lab day where he can dress down? “I drove for the longest time after leaving last night. I was so completely and utterly done with Alex and his bullshit...” He explains how he found himself way out on the south side when he finally pulled himself out of his head. “I didn’t care where I was, really. I was hungry, so I checked around online and lo and behold, I was practically outside one of the highest rated little hole in the wall places I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh, Skye...” Ran shakes her head. It’s still odd to see it shaved so close after seeing it with those tight black braids for so long. “That’s not very smart. Not for someone like you.”
Not for a son of Archer Dalton, adopted or otherwise.
“Yeah, well, Sasha was with me. Followed me in and took a seat closest to the door.”
“That’s only moderately better.”
Skye makes a face. “I was more concerned with my stomach than I was with my well-being. And seriously, I’m glad I was.” He tells Ran about Jacob and the conversation they had. “I just... Wow.”
“I’ve known you for almost ten years and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this gaga over someone. Especially a man.” Ran grins. She’s known for almost as long as Skye has that he swings both ways, not that he’s had a chance to explore that much. His social life outside of work obligations is practically non-existent since he moved back home last year. “I know you’re attracted to intelligence but how’s the rest of the package?”
“I have no idea.” Skye purposefully misinterprets the question. “It’s not like he stripped down for me. There were other people around.”
Ran reaches across the desk and smacks his arm. “You know what I mean! What does he look like? Is he at least decent?”
A memory of wavy dark hair, a sharp jawline, and a muscled body that made Skye want to want to climb all over it makes him pause. “More than decent,” he finally settles on. “He could model for the cover of those cowboy romances I’m not supposed to know you read.”
“Those are my guilty pleasure, what can I say?” Ran’s smile fades into a more serious expression. “All jokes aside, Skye, he sounds great. Does he bat for the same team? I want you to find someone and have a little fun. To be happy for a damned change.” Her voice lowers. “Does he know who you are?”
Skye sighs and reaches for his coffee. “He carded me. Said my glasses make me look like I’m sixteen.”
Ran can’t stop her laugh in time. “He’s not entirely wrong there.”
“Hush.” He takes a sip and sets the mug down. “It didn’t really seem to faze him, who I am. Most of what we discussed happened after that. It was...it was the most normal I’ve felt since I came back from grad school. I absolutely loved it.”
“Do you think you’re attracted to him because of that then?”
Skye frowns, pondering the question. “That’s entirely possible. In that bar, I wasn’t Skyler Rhoades-Dalton. I was just Skye and it felt...incredible. I didn’t have to pretend, and Jacob didn’t care. He treated me the same as he would anyone else. Or at least the same as anyone who could discuss books with him. The guy looks like a complete punk but is a closet bookworm underneath.”
Ran shakes her head. “Only a rich white boy like you uses the word punk anymore.”
“Then what else would you call him? His hair is spiked and bleached, and he’s got more piercings than you. Studs most of the way up each ear, and he’s got a bar across the top of one. Like that blonde techie gal in that show we like.” He doesn’t know what it’s called but he likes it.
“You are so ridiculous. And that’s called an industrial. Which I’m not allowed to get here because of the dress code.” Ran rolls her eyes.
“I promise, if I ever take over the world, I’ll make sure that changes,” Skye says with a wink. “But I thought it was a nose piercing you wanted?”
“Both would be nice.” Ran readjusts herself in the uncomfortable chair. It’s a little trick he learned long ago, that the only comfortable chair in his office is his. Keeps visitors from staying long. “You never did answer the first question though. Does he bat for the same team?”
Skye sighs and leans back in his chair, hoping the ceiling would provide some inspiration. It doesn’t, as usual. “I don’t know.”
“How do you plan to find out?”
“Well, while I was there, I discovered that place makes some wicked fried pickles I’m certain Randal would never approve of. I can develop a craving for them after just one visit, right?”
Ran laughs, her dark eyes dancing in delight. “I think it’s something else you’re craving.”
“Well, fried pickles sounds so much more polite than cock, doesn’t it?”
