Chapter 38

Christian fucking Sharpe, who’d seduced an entirely willing seventeen-year-old Scooter Stahl one summer, and then dumped him like trash the next year. Who brought his “assistants” and his “interns” and his “protégées” to the beach property each year for Memorial Day week. A new one every year. And Chris always brought them to Dockside, at least once, like he was parading them in front of Scooter. Since Chris had taken his seat in the state Senate, his young men had all at least been adults, but they’d stayed in the same age-bracket—the oldest had been twenty-two—while Chris got older. No less handsome, though. And even those boys hadn’t kept Scooter out of Chris’s bed, because whenever Chris crooked his finger, Scooter had gone, eager and hating himself for it.

Scooter had finally stopped letting Chris seduce him after Chris’s twenty-four-year-old trophy wife had a kid, some three years back. Scooter had a hard enough time as it was, with the shit that had gone down with Ripton that year, he didn’t need to be involved in a scandal with the Senator, or bring that sort of shame on a kid who would have to live with that for her whole life.

But it hadn’t stopped Chris from trying, or from bringing his latest boytoy to the Dockside every year. Scooter had taken a weird, fierce, uncomfortable sort of pride in the fact that it was never the same boy, that Chris hadn’t found someone to love. That it was always a new guy; that Scooter hadn’t…been supplanted. He’d just been replaced. And that no one was going to love Chris as much as Scooter did.

This time, Chris was studying the new menu when Scooter came onto the floor from his office, but Scooter didn’t stop to stare. He’d…Jesus, he’d forgotten that Chris was due in town.

Scooter walked over, his best customer-is-always-right smile on his face. The boy Chris was with this year was pretty, brown-skinned and sloe-eyed. Hispanic, probably. Neat and muscular. Sensual mouth. The sort Chris preferred. “Afternoon, Senator,” Scooter said. “It’s good to see you. Looking forward to the season?” He offered his hand and let Chris clasp his fingers, the warm brush of Chris’s smooth skin doing…nothing

Huh.

“Winston, dear,” Chris said, easily, with every evidence of delight. “This is Cooper Ashford, my personal assistant. Coop, this is Winston, the owner of this lovely establishment.”

The anger burned, but this time…He wasn’t angry at the boy for having Chris’s attention. He was angry forAshford. Angry that Chris was probably stringing the kid along with a series of lies; Chris lied in bed like a fucking rug. He’d always said such sweet things, had made Scooter feel important and cherished and loved, and…here Chris was, getting ready to make someone else miserable. Did that kid even know what he was getting into, or was he just as naive as Scooter had been?

Scooter’s shoulders ached from holding them back, keeping himself straight and casual.

“Nice to meet you,” Scooter said, and stepped to one side so he could watch both Ashford and Chris at the same time, instead of focusing his attention on Chris. For that matter, Scooter was suddenly and coldly certain that he never really wanted to see Chris again. That was…oddly liberating.

He directed polite conversation at the boy, asking about his interests, what he was doing at school, how the internship in Richmond was going. Chris’s eyes crinkled at the corner, like he was smiling, but Scooter knew Chris’s smile, knew every iteration of it, and that wasn’t the usual self-satisfied smirk that he wore when Scooter was seething with jealousy over the flavor of the moment. No, that was his debate-face. Chris was about to come down on Scooter with every weapon in his arsenal.

A twist of nerves cramped his belly. He’d barely been able to resist Chris when the man wasn’t even half-trying. Scooter’s refusal to sleep with Chris these last few years had taken more willpower than he wanted to admit, helped along by a few serendipitous accidents and Chris’s amused tolerance. But now, somehow, Scooter had waved a flag in front of Chris’s face.

Shit.

* * * *

“Andy,” Kat hissed urgently, but Andy’s feet were blocks of cement, too heavy to lift.

Then Sharpe smiled, and Andy knewthat smile, had seen it a hundred, a thousandtimes from his father, from his father’s friends and associates. That was the smile of a man who had encountered an unexpected roadblock, and was about to bring out the big guns and get reallyvicious. And it was aimed at Scooter.

Andy was moving before he even thought about it, pushing through the swinging door and ducking around the counter to pull up at Scooter’s side. “Hey, sorry I slept so late,” he said, and he shot a coy look at Sharpe from under his lashes before giving Scooter exactly the sort of devoted, adoring gaze that he’d perfected to keep Nick’s jealousy at bay. “I was all worn out after last night.”

For just an instant, Scooter stared at him like he had absolutely no idea who Andy was. And then all the puzzle pieces of Scooter’s best smile fell into place. When Scooter grinned like that, looked actually happy, he was the most beautiful thing Andy had ever seen. “Andy,” Scooter said. An impish twinkle danced in Scooter’s ocean-gray eyes, and he slung an arm over Andy’s shoulders and kissed Andy’s cheek lightly. “I’d like you to meet one of our special customers. This is Senator Sharpe. He’s been eating at Dockside since before I was born. Chris, this is Andy, my assistant.”

Well, that was one way to describe the job, Andy supposed. But Scooter had caught on fast, which was good, and was playing along, which was even better. Andy slathered on his most oily smile and aimed it at Sharpe. “How nice to meet you,” Andy said. “Scooter never told me he knew anyone important.” He turned back to Scooter with a pout. “You never tell me the really interesting stuff.”

“You wouldn’t have believed me anyway,” Scooter said, gesturing to Sharpe with an absent sort of wave. “I mean, you really just have to get to know him, to really understand how…much influence Chris has around here. You know the Spanish villa up the road? That’s his place. He and his family have been coming here since, oh, when was it, Chris? Your dad bought the place in 1985, when you were, how old? Twelve?”

Sharpe’s smile grew more dazzling. “You still have a good memory, Winston. Sharp as a tack.”

“That long?” Andy said. “That’s great, honestly. It’s nice to know you’ve got a sense of tradition, Senator. Too many people these days are just after the next new thing. No appreciation for history.”

“Speaking of history,” Scooter said, giving the kid his attention. “Make him take you up to Colonial Williamsburg while you’re here. It’s worth seeing. Romantic.” He clapped a hand on the kid’s shoulder and squeezed lightly. “If you’ll excuse me, Senator, I’ve got to get back to these books. You know how it is. No rest for the wicked.”

Scooter’s hand slid downward to rest at the small of Andy’s back as he turned them around to head into the kitchen.