The Square Peg (3 page)

“Great idea!” Ben said, realizing he’d gone too heavy on the approval.
Oh, what a

wonderful picture of the doggie! Let’s hang it on the fridge for Daddy to see…

Shane slammed the door, the bang underscoring his feelings nicely. He stalked out

of the storeroom with Ben on his heels and went down a short corridor with two doors

opening off it. “Loo for the staff through there, not filthy, but don’t get any ideas about

eating dinner off the floor, because you’d be lucky to survive the first bite. There’s a

room for them here where they can hang out when they’re on their breaks. Couch, a

telly, that kind of thing.” He indicated at the door but put his arm out to block Ben’s

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attempt to open it. “It’s a dump; take my word for it. You don’t need to check it out.

Not as if you’ll be spending any time in there.”

If Shane hadn’t seem so determined to keep him out, Ben would have let it go, but

curiosity reared its head, and he pushed past Shane’s arm and opened the door.

In the small, crowded room, the young bartender was just pulling a maroon polo

shirt over his head. His eyes widened when he saw them. Swiftly, he kicked at

something on the floor next to the lumpy plaid couch until it was out of sight. “I was

just changing,” he said, picking up a similarly colored wad of fabric. “Shane, that tap

that was leaking, well, it’s not dripping now. It’s practically a stream.”

“Good thing we keep spare shirts,” Shane said, with a glance at Ben that seemed

more than a little bit suspicious.

There was a blanket draped along the length of the couch and a second one balled

into something resembling a pillow. It was easy enough to guess the young man had

been sleeping there, and the worried glances he and Shane were exchanging told Ben

there was some reason he wasn’t supposed to be. He cleared his throat.

“Right, sorry,” Shane said. “Vincent, this is Benedict Lozier. He’s got a half interest

in the bar.”

“Since when?” Vincent seemed shocked.

“Since his father was the old owner and left it to him,” Shane said. “This is

Vincent.”

“Vin,” Vin said. “He calls everyone by their full names. It’s a thing.”

“I noticed. Nice to meet you properly.” Ben shook Vin’s hand.

“Uh, yeah. You too.” Vin plucked at the shirt with a grimace. “Black’s better.

Doesn’t show the dirt.”

“So change again when your shirt’s dry.” Shane sounded more patient with Vin’s

outraged fashion sense than he had with Ben. “If you’re done here, maybe you should

get back behind the bar.”

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Vin scratched his bare forearm, drawing Ben’s attention to a display of ink that

was both intricate and, to Ben’s eyes, painful. Shane’s much smaller tattoo was one

thing, but he couldn’t imagine sitting still for the hours it would take to have that kind

of artwork etched into skin. It was a dragon on a bed of skulls, all in black, apart from a

single baleful red eye. Vin seemed to go in for decorating his body with more than ink.

Multiple silver studs glinted dully in his ears, along with a dragon earring, and there

was a small hoop in his eyebrow. They were probably the tamest examples. Yeah, there

was the shine of a tongue stud.

Ben, who didn’t have a tattoo or a piercing to his name, felt nakedly normal and

uncomfortably curious about what else Vin had embellished. Nipples, navel, cock?

Okay, now he was the one grimacing.

“Not exactly fucking hopping out there, but sure.”

Vin edged past Ben as cautiously as if boring would rub off on him, and Ben

sighed, halting him with a gesture. “You’re sleeping here? Why?” he asked bluntly.

“Me? Sleep here? No way.” Vin wasn’t a good liar in Ben’s opinion, and Shane’s

exasperated sigh showed he thought so too.

“He got kicked out. New landlord looking to improve the image of the place. I’m

letting him doss down here for a few nights. Already got feelers out for a place down on

Austin Street that might open up soon.”

“He shouldn’t be staying here,” Ben said. “It’s just not suitable even in the short-

term. I’m not telling you to kick him out onto the street, but you have to see that.” He

could see chip crumbs on the floor by the couch, and a stack of pizza boxes on a table.

The room smelled funky. He was willing to bet the staff washroom was doubling as

Vin’s bathroom.

“I could stay with you upstairs,” Vin said with a hopeful look at Shane. “I

wouldn’t be in the way.”

Shane shook his head. “I like my space, thanks. I don’t share. If I did, my couch,

this couch—what’s the difference?”

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“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because no one should be living here? And not just

because it’s probably illegal. Where do you take a shower?”

Vin, gaze firmly locked on the floor, shrugged.

Ben sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He was starting to suspect he’d have

to find a chiropractor. “Okay, you can stay with me tonight.”

“What?” Vin and Shane both spoke at the same time as if they’d rehearsed it.

“Well, he can’t stay here; it’s ridiculous.” Ben looked at Shane. “Plus he looks like

he hasn’t had a real meal in forever.”

“I’m not looking for a handout,” Vin protested, but it was hard to read his

expression.

“I’m not offering one. But you can’t sleep here, and the couch in my den folds out

into a bed that’ll be a hell of a lot more comfortable than this.” Ben knew he was being

impulsive and didn’t care. This was the new him. No more boring Ben; from now on

he’d be a risktaker.

“You don’t know him,” Shane said. “He could rip you off, trash the place—”

“Hey!” Vin protested. “I wouldn’t. Any of that.” He turned to Ben. “He’s right,

though. You don’t know me.”

“Yes, I do,” Ben said. “You’re one of my employees.”

It was worth any amount of future inconvenience to see Shane’s face when he said

that, laying claim to the place and the people in it and daring Shane to argue.

Craig might have kept his distance from the bar and let Shane do things his way,

but Ben didn’t intend to, not now he’d seen how lax things were. Sticky carpets, peeling

paint—no.

His turn to take charge.

He met Shane’s gaze squarely, projecting the same brisk confidence he used to

control an evasive client. “Show me the rest of the place; then I’ll take a look at that

paperwork you were struggling with.”

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15

Shane chewed on his lip for a moment, worrying at it with his teeth. He was

handsome as hell when he looked uncertain, a thought Ben wasn’t sure what to do

with. “Yeah. Whatever. You’ve seen most of it, anyway. Upstairs is my place, all of it.

Need someone around to keep an eye on things.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Ben said and awarded himself another point when Shane

scowled.

As he followed Shane out, he realized how much fun he was having, the sensation

novel enough to make him wonder if Jenson had been right.

Maybe he had been too stuck in his ways…but that was all about to change.

He caught his foot in a hole in the carpet and had to work to keep from falling flat

on his face.

Lots of things were going to change.

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Chapter Two

Shane’s stomach grumbled again, and he ignored it again, though he wouldn’t be

able to do that for much longer. Benedict seemed determined to see and evaluate every

inch of the bar, exhausting and irritating him in the process. Now Benedict was settled

at Shane’s desk with a stack of paperwork that would hopefully keep him occupied for

at least half an hour.

“Boss? Just opened the last case of Absolut.” Shelly, the part-time bartender who

was the most blessedly no-nonsense woman Shane had ever met, did a great job

keeping on top of things they were running low on.

“There’s a delivery in the morning.” Shane straightened from where he’d been

slumped against the wall outside the office and added, “I’m going to phone in an order

at India Palace.”

“I’ll tell Vin,” Shelly called over her shoulder.

Shane went into the office—his office, still his, whether Benedict liked it or not—to

grab the tattered paper menu tacked to the corkboard.

“Oh good, are you ordering food?” Benedict asked without looking up. “Pizza?”

“Indian.”

“Hm. Saag paneer and garlic naan. Extra rice.” Still without looking up, Benedict

leaned forward in his chair, took out his wallet, and held some bills toward Shane.

Bloody cheek. Shane knew his mouth was screwed up tight enough that it had to

look like his arsehole, but he couldn’t help it. Benedict rubbed him the wrong way.

Everything about him grated, from the suit jacket hanging, perfectly aligned, on the

back of Benedict’s chair, to the soft tap of Benedict’s pen against his hand as he read.

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Physically, Shane couldn’t find much to sneer at. Benedict’s body was shaped by a

gym, not hard work. An hour shifting cases of bottles would probably leave him wiped

out, but he wasn’t soft, not really. The dark hair, thick and unruly—that was Craig’s

hair, though his son probably wouldn’t take kindly to being told that. His brown eyes

weren’t like Craig’s in anything but color, though, and neither was his personality.

Craig had never had that much intelligence and warmth in his eyes when Shane had

known him, the knocks he’d taken leaving him depressed, the life squeezed out of him.

Not a bad bloke, but not much fun.

Benedict, for all that he had a stick up his arse and would need reining in before

he gutted the place and turned it into somewhere Shane wouldn’t be seen dead

drinking in, was at least enthusiastic.

He found himself studying the shape of Benedict’s mouth—the thin upper lip and

the surprisingly lush lower one—and shook himself out of his reverie long enough to

take the money from his partner’s hand.

Partner. This just wasn’t going to work.

After twenty minutes of watching Benedict shuffle paper, he was on edge, gritting

his teeth every time Benedict gave a low, considering
hmm
after totting up a line of

figures.

“Will you stop doing that?”

Benedict looked up, blinking at him. His eyelashes were too long for a guy’s in

Shane’s opinion, dark and silky. “Doing what?”

“That! All those—” Shane made an exasperated gesture. “Those thoughtful

sounds, as if you’re some sort of Zen master. Let me guess: you’re into yoga, and your

inspiration is Gandhi.” He knew he was being absurd, but he couldn’t help it, not when

Benedict seemed determined to swoop in and improve everything and everyone’s lives

when they were just fine the way they were, thank you very much.

“You realize you sound like a crazy person, right?”

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“Hi, excuse me?” An uncertain delivery guy holding a paper bag peered around

the corner of the doorframe. “The Goth guy at the bar said I should bring this back

here?”

“I love you,” Benedict told him, sounding so genuine Shane’s stomach twisted in

confusion. “I’m starving. Here, take this; give me that.” He was waving a ten-dollar bill

at the delivery guy, who had to be new, since Shane ordered from India Palace all the

time and hadn’t seen him before.

The guy looked at Shane worriedly, slipped past him, and traded the food for the

money. “I just need you to sign the slip?”

“No, that would be me,” Shane said, and did so, making sure to draw a line

through the place where he would have added the tip. “Thanks. Benedict, if you eat my

food, I’ll seriously consider killing you. Just for the record.”

As the delivery guy fled, Benedict grinned, already shoveling food into his mouth

and making new sounds, happy sounds. “God, this is good,” he said.

“You Yanks don’t know how to do curry, but it’s not bad.” Since the India Palace

was owned by two brothers, Vijay and Deepak Patel, who’d emigrated from

Birmingham a few years before Shane had left Liverpool, that wasn’t surprising. But

Shane didn’t share that with Benedict. More fun to needle him.

Shane peeled the lid off his shrimp vindaloo—he liked his curry mouth-searingly

hot—and inhaled the aroma appreciatively.

They ate in silence for a while. Then Benedict pushed a sauce-soaked piece of naan

into his mouth, chewed, swallowed, and said, “You’re bleeding cash. I give you six

months before you go under.”

The juicy, tender shrimp in his mouth lost none of its succulence, but Shane

gulped it down without tasting it. “You what?”

“You heard me.” Benedict smiled at him. “Your accent…I couldn’t work out

where you were from, but you’re a, um, a Scouser, is that right?”

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The careful way he said
Scouser
made Shane roll his eyes. Jesus. Another one who