Insubordinate ( Gay ) ( BxB )

Chapter Nineteen ✓

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Oh, shit.

"Aaron Beckett, huh?" He muses, holding out his hand for me to shake, a small smile playing on his lips. "Call me Vince."

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                         Have you ever had a single, fleeting moment where all you can think is: I fucked up? I've had many, but none so direct. This is the kind of unthinkable cliché you never imagined would happen to you. Fault on my behalf, it seems, for not giving a fuck about what this guys name was. But in my defense, why would I expect the guy who orchestrated all of this to be the one sitting at his own bar drinking with me? I expected him to be on a pedestal somewhere being the cunt I imagined he'd be.

"That's me." I say awkwardly, shaking his hand. "Good to make your acquaintance."

"Likewise."

"Listen, earlier-"

"Don't worry about it." He halts my excuse. "I appreciate honesty. I'm not offended."

"I complain about a lot of things." I say, still trying to justify myself to him. "I didn't mean it, mostly. Seriously, this is great, all of this is."

"I said you were right about what you said." Vince reminds me. "You hit the nail on the head. Don't go back on it; I was enjoying our talk."

"Really?" I dribble. 

"I'm an honest man who likes honest people. Your drinks are on me; I'm paying the bartender anyway."

"Sounds like I missed out on something," Brett comments. "Do I want to know?"

"It's nothing." Vince dismisses, planting a kiss on Brett's neck. "You like a drink, caro?"

Caro. He says this very lovingly. Lots of emphasis on the 'R'. I'm almost disgusted by Brett's reception of his offer as he leans and kisses Vince, mumbling just audibly, "I'd love a martini, if your guy can make it." 

"Sai?" Vince moves his head away from Brett while he continues to trace Vince's jaw with his fingers. "Martini."

"Yes, sir." The man responds as he turns to open a cabinet, retrieving a glass with orderly movement. "A moment, sir."

"You're impeccable." Brett croons in his ear.  

"Nothing I can't do." Vince kisses him again. 

I turn away and drink the last of my scotch uncomfortably. It's like I don't exist anymore- that's one of the many things I hate about affectionate couples. They're shameless. Sucking face like they're putting on a show; at this rate, I'll be drunk before Coen even enters the room. 

"Hey, bartender, another scotch for me once you're done." I request. 

"Yes, sir." He complies.

"You don't waste time fooling with your drinks, do you?" Vince says to me. 

"Never have." I answer. 

"Are you of Irish descent, Aaron?" Brett jokes. 

"No, but I've learned the ways of an Irishman well." I say. "Don't mind me."

"We're not minding. Should've guessed you weren't Irish by that complexion of yours; they're supposed to be pale. Let's see, are you Italian? Part?" Brett guesses, playing that little guessing game he indulges in so much.