First…? The word echoed around in Bailey’s mind as he placed his beer on the table beside him, and all he could think about was: What comes second?
He rubbed the heel of his hand over his way-too-eager cock and gritted his teeth. Jesus, they’d barely said more than a handful of words to one another, and he was ready to go; he could only imagine what it was going to be like in person. Hell, he didn’t have to imagine—he’d already given in once before, only to be passed over and left frustrated in the end.
“How do I know you’re actually going to show if I say yes?” It was a legitimate question, and the only thing that had kept Bailey from agreeing so far.
“Because I braved a face-to-face with Joel to get your number.”
And right then, Bailey knew he was doomed.
“Let me take you to dinner, Bailey.” Henri’s tone was much more persuasive this time around, or maybe that was just the way Bailey was now hearing it. “Then maybe I can clear up a few of the questions you’re not asking me.”
It’s just dinner, Bailey thought, and before he could change his mind, he said, “What time and where?”
Chapter Eleven
CONFESSION
I’ve never been really good at being polite.
But who wants to be good…or polite?
HENRI PULLED UP to the valet of the restaurant Exquisite and put the car in park as the young man behind the stand stepped forward, waiting for him to exit the vehicle. This wasn’t the kind of restaurant he usually frequented—he was more a bar or pub type—but he figured since he was trying to redeem himself with Bailey tonight, the least he could do was take him somewhere nice for a meal.
As he stepped out of the car, Henri looked at the wall of windows and the busy tables inside, all adorned with cream tablecloths and flickering candles, and once again thought, Yeah, this is so not my kind of place.
This restaurant actually reminded him of Priest’s Frenchman. Henri could easily imagine Julien Thornton dining inside with his two husbands, happy as can be, and maybe that was what Henri had been lacking all along for Priest: class and sophistication. He was definitely more the grungy little swamp rat.
Henri shoved that thought aside, though, as soon as it entered his head. He refused to let Priest be the reason he walked away from Bailey again tonight. He was going to go inside, eat dinner, and then—if he was lucky—he was finally going to get Bailey in a bed.
He made his way toward the front doors, and as he stepped inside, he walked over to the hostess behind the stand and aimed a roguish grin her way. She shyly smiled and then said in a soft voice designed to tantalize, “Good evening, welcome to Exquisite. How can I help you tonight?”
“Well”—Henri looked at her name badge—“Claire. I have a reservation for two under the name Boudreaux, and I was wondering if you could tell me if my table is ready.”
Claire’s smile faltered slightly at Henri’s little announcement, as did her eyes as she skimmed the list of reservations in front of her, then she nodded.
“Yes, okay. I see you right here. The other member of your party hasn’t arrived yet. Would you like to take a seat now and wait for her? Or would you like to go and get a drink at the bar?”
“It’s actually a him, and”—he looked at the bar that stretched the entire side of one wall, but then he thought about the night of Priest’s wedding and decided he wanted this one to begin and end very differently—“I think I’ll just go and wait for him at our table.”
She nodded and gestured for him to follow her through the crowd, and as it turned out, their table was more of a booth, private yet public—in other words, it was absolutely perfect for his date with the hot cop.
Once Henri was seated, Claire let him know that a waiter would be by to take his drink order and that she would be sure to show his guest over once he arrived. Henri thanked her and watched her walk off, then he pulled out his phone to check that there were no messages from Bailey saying he would be late.
It was now ten minutes past eight, their agreed meeting time, and the thought that Bailey might stand him up to make a point had most definitely crossed Henri’s mind. But just as that idea entered his head, the front doors to the restaurant opened, and Officer Bailey stepped inside.
Fuck, the man was gorgeous. Even more so than Henri remembered, and he had an unobstructed view of Bailey’s profile. His long legs were encased in pressed grey pants tonight, and he’d paired them with a white button-up with sleeves rolled up his forearms.