“I’m Rebecca,” she said. “If you like, I can tell you the specials.”
“Please,” Trey said, like it was really important.
Zane looked at him sharply. His roommate’s voice had dropped lower than normal.
Rebecca rattled off the specials, then pushed her pencil eraser into her bottom lip. In spite of the situation, interest zinged along Zane’s nerves. She truly did have a stellar mouth. “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but you really shouldn’t order the lobster.”
“We shouldn’t,” Trey repeated.
The short waitress shook her head. “There was a screw up with our purveyor. All we’ve got today is frozen.”
Trey planted his elbow on the tablecloth and his chin in his hand. The position turned him toward Rebecca, silently declaring: I’m all yours, sweetheart. “Frozen lobster so close to Maine is blasphemy.”
Flustered by his attention, Rebecca pulled her order pad to her cushy chest. “The striped bass is good. And the duck breast, though it’s not on special. One of the senior line cooks makes it. He’s got a knack.”
Trey’s smile couldn’t have been more salacious if she’d been discussing sex. “You seem familiar with the kitchen.”
He must have been giving her his best smolder, because the girl’s breath hitched. “I cook on the line for lunch. I serve dinner because the tips are good.”
“People are more generous once they’ve survived a day at work.”
Trey wasn’t simply playing his fellow wait staff card, he was crooning at her. The girl began to flush, but stopped herself with a laugh. “Alcohol doesn’t hurt either.”
Trey smiled at her humor. For all the pair noticed, Zane could have been invisible. He’d watched his friend flirt before, but disappearing himself was a new experience.
“We’ll take the duck to share,” he cut in. “And the smoked cod tartine to start.”
“Oh.” The girl shifted her gaze to him, her smile faltering as she recalculated them being a couple. Recovering, she scribbled down what he’d said. “And you?” she asked Trey. “Would you like an appetizer?”
“The terrine of foie gras.” After all these years of fine dining, the French pronunciation rolled off his tongue. “We’ll get back to you on the wine.” His tone was soft, his penetrating green eyes reclaiming their intimate hold on hers. The girl’s soft mouth parted, as if she saw something in his consideration that perplexed her. For a couple seconds, the pair stared at each other.
“I’ll . . .” She cleared huskiness from her throat. “I’ll put your tickets in right away.”
As she spun jerkily and walked off, Zane struggled with his shame. “She was cute,” he observed, some part of him unable to leave dogs sleeping.
“She was,” Trey agreed, now perusing the wine list. His manicured index finger trailed as smoothly down the page as it could stroke an erection. He didn’t mention that Zane had effectively cock-blocked him.
That meant Zane really was obliged to act mature.
“You could probably get her number.”
Trey looked up and smiled. He seemed to know what had just happened—even if Zane preferred not to sort it out. “What’s in the portfolio?”
“Oh. It’s . . . a business proposal I wanted your feedback on it.”
The weird exchange with the cute waitress seemed to be over. Trey traded the wine list for Zane’s zippered leather case. He opened it, pulled out the stack of bound pages, and flipped through them. Though his movements were swift, Zane knew his friend was reading.
As he did, his expressive lips began curving. “You want to call your business The Bad Boys Club?”
“It conveys a feeling. Exclusive but still fun.”
“I agree.” Trey turned a few pages back and forth. “This is a big plan, Zane. A magazine. Luxury vacation properties.” His saturnine eyebrows quirked. “A fleet of fractional jets?”
“I want to create a brand. I wouldn’t try to do everything at once.”
Trey closed the neat report. “You’d start with the magazine.”
“Yes.” Zane was relieved he saw it the same way. “I know magazines are risky, but this one is designed to be ad heavy. We’d do articles on the coolest expensive watches or the best wines for impressing your girlfriend. So many people are insecure about spending money. Whether they have a lot or a little, they want to know they’re buying the right things. Of course there aren’t ‘wrong’ things, but they want someone to guide them. People who won a bet were always asking my opinion on how to celebrate. It was like they needed my approval.”
A grin slanted Trey’s mouth. “That’s because you’re the lucky stiff whose shoes they wished they could walk in.”
Zane didn’t take offense. He knew Trey’s teasing was meant fondly. “I want The Bad Boys Club to represent a lifestyle. Work hard. Play hard. Look good while you’re doing both. I was thinking . . .” He hesitated, because this pushed the edge of his comfort zone. “Every so often, we’d do a spread with skin appeal: the best nude beaches in Europe, the hottest soccer players with their shirts off. We’d draw in male and female readers. Everybody likes visuals.”
“You mean everybody likes eye candy.” Trey laughed, patting the tablecloth to either side of Zane’s report. “You’d totally have to be the first cover boy.”
“Me?” Zane jerked straighter. He hadn’t thought of this.
“Absolutely. You are the brand you’re talking about: the guy women want to bed and men want to hang out with. I can completely see you pulling this off. Like Oprah with testicles.”
Zane choked on the water he’d been sipping. “Thank you for that image.”
Trey leaned across the table to grip his hand, passion animating his eternally interesting face. “You can do this, Zane. This is so not beyond your capacity.”
“I want you to do it with me,” Zane admitted.
Trey’s jaw dropped, his eyes gone round. His throat moved like he was having trouble deciding how to respond. Abruptly nervous, Zane pulled his hand back from him.
“I know you’re excited about working in DC. You’ll probably be advising senators before the week is out. The thing is, you’ll have more fun if you stick with me.”
Trey sat back and blinked at him.
“Full partners,” Zane went on stubbornly. “You wouldn’t be working for me like you did on the bookmaking. We’d be an equal team.”
Trey’s green eyes welled up. “Well,” he said, blinking them again rapidly. “I wasn’t expecting this.”
“Think about it,” Zane said gruffly. “We don’t have to stop being partners just because we’re leaving school.”
“Right.” Laughing softly—possibly at himself—Trey picked up his napkin and pressed it to his face.
“Uh,” said the waitress, choosing then to come up. “Did you decide on the wine?”
Trey laughed harder and dropped the shield for his expression. “Rebecca,” he said, looking at her directly despite his emotion. “We’d love it if you’d bring us a bottle of the Les Belles Filles Burgundy.”