Abe’s Law

“Do you have any idea what I can do for you?”

Abraham Hollis glared at the man who’d been haunting his dreams and aggravating his days for several weeks. “Do you have any idea how much I don’t give a shit what you can do for me?”

“I’m trying to help you.”

“I don’t think so. I think you’re trying to help you by way of me. I’m not interested. And I didn’t ask for your help.”

“I can make you rich.”

“Who says I need to be rich?”

“Everyone likes money.”

Abe hated that argument. “Money doesn’t make anyone rich. It just means you got more green and more problems than most other people.”

“What can I do to convince you to consider my offer, to look it over?”

“Going away would be a good start. Though I don’t plan to consider anything.”

“Your wing sauces could be worth millions.”

“I appreciate you sayin’ so, but I gotta get ready for work and unless you want pieces of your body dipped in batter, deep fried, and drippin’ in one of my million-dollar sauces, I suggest you get your fancy ass off my doorstep.” Abe slammed his apartment door on the man’s stunned expression. Damn fool just wouldn’t give up no matter how many times Abe said no, which by current count was up to at least twenty-six or maybe twenty-seven.

He wanted to take Abe’s wings sauces national. It was a pretty cool idea that someone found his creations worth that much, but Abe wasn’t interested. He’d had other offers for the same thing. Every now and then some big shot would blow into town with thoughts of wooing him away with promises of money and becoming a household name all across the country.

If they did any snoopin’ at all, they’d know Abe came from money and that money didn’t motivate or inspire him. Money wasn’t why he worked paycheck to paycheck in the kitchen of a bar until the wee hours of the morning and ran a food cart in the rare free hours he had.

Working kept him busy and kept his mind occupied.

A glance at the clock on the microwave he never used had him shaking his head. He had just enough time to step under the water in the shower and get out. The guy showing up at his door made him late and Abe hated being late.

The bar was down the street and around the corner from his place. He used to share the apartment above the bar with Eli, but ever since Asa came along and swept Eli off his feet, Abe was out on his own.

He didn’t mind, really. His friends were happy and at the end of the day, that’s all that mattered.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

He stepped through the front door of The Bar Next Door and almost stepped right back out. He knew he should’ve gone through the kitchen door at the back. “Fuck me,” he groused. “Are you shittin’ me? What the hell are you doin’ here?”

“Keep talking Abe,” Asa called from behind the bar. “A few more words and you’ll be able to fill up the swear jar all on your own tonight.”

“Fuck you.”

“Yep. Though at this rate, you’ll have it filled before the sun goes down.”

Abe shook his head and dismissed Asa with a wave of his hand. Instead, he stomped his booted feet toward the table situated closest to the kitchen. “What the hell are you doin’ here?” he repeated the question to the man in the chair casually leaning back against the wall.

“We weren’t done talking.”

“Did you miss the door being slammed in your face?”

“Fine.” The man smiled and Abe couldn’t decide if he wanted to deck him or kiss him or deck him and kiss him. “I wasn’t done talking.”

“I was done listenin’.”

“Huh. Okay.”

“You’re wastin’ your time.”

“I don’t think I am.”

Abe picked up the untouched beer sitting on the table in front of the man. Abe drained it and slammed the bottle down. “Beer’s on me. Get out.”

“Abraham…”

“The name’s Abe. Only my father calls me Abraham and you sure as fuck aren’t him.”

“Is that good or bad?” The smile on the man’s lips widened and pissed Abe off. Of course, he was already pissed off. “Get out and don’t come back. We might be a bunch of gay cowboys, but we can still kick the ass of anyone who’s unwanted in here.”

“What makes you think I’m not gay?”

“Nothin’. I… I didn’t say you weren’t.” Abe didn’t want him to be. Not at all. Not even a little bit curious.

“At least you don’t jump to conclusions”

“Screw you.”

“Yes, you’ve mentioned different variations. I get it.”

“Good.”

“You want me.”

“’Excuse me?”

“It’s alright. You can admit it. It won’t change anything. I still want to sign you and your wing sauces as a client.”

“I don’t want anything to do with you. I won’t tell you again. Get. Out.” Abe turned on his heel and was almost through the kitchen door, safe in his domain, but the words thrown at his back halted his escape.

“That why you’re hard? Because you don’t want anything to do with me?”

Cat calls and whistles and hoots went up through the room. Abe pushed through the door away from the man, the noise, the frustration. Here, in the kitchen of the bar was where he’d found his place, where he was most at home.

Since he left his family’s ranch in Oklahoma, he’d been searching for a home and when he found The Bar Next Door, he knew he’d found the closest thing to it. He played in the Austin food scene for a while, created sauces based on his tastes, what he wanted on his tongue, entered food competitions and started a food cart, but in the bar, working alongside owners Malachi and Eli, he’d found exactly what he’d been looking for. A place he fit.

The Bar Next Door was as much his home as his place of employment.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

Abe slid the black apron over his head and tied it around his back, then turned to Asa. “I said yeah, so yeah.”

“Who is that guy?”

“A pain in my ass.”

“You know you owe at least fifty bucks to the jar.”

“You know I don’t give a shit about your precious swear jar, right?”

“Fifty-five.”

“Asa…” The warning was worthless, and Abe knew it. Asa wasn’t great at taking a hint. Being a persistent asshole was what finally won him Eli’s bruised and battered heart and endeared him to everyone in the bar.

“What does he guy want?”

Abe sighed. “The right to brand and market my sauces.” He’d won enough competitions to know they were the best in town. And that was saying something in a food city like Austin. He didn’t enter many anymore, but the ones he did sign up for were because some punk thought he could take Abe down.

“That’s a good thing, though, right?”

“No.”

“Oh. Why not?

“It just isn’t.” Abe didn’t have a good answer for why not, yet. But he’d find one. “Did he leave?”

Asa shook his head. “Nope. He’s still in the same place, but since you said the beer’s on you, he ordered a round for everyone.”

“Son of a bitch!”

“Sixty.”

“One more word about that fucking swear jar and I’m gonna shove it up your ass” Abe was fuming mad, and Asa stood there grinning. Ear to fucking ear grinning. “Get out of my kitchen.”

“He was right.”

“What?”

“The man at the table. You’re hard when you talk about him.”

“Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

Asa laughed and pushed back through the door to the front of the bar and Abe fought the urge to throw something at his retreating form. Maybe a bowl. A spoon. A knife. But he wasn’t interested in damaging any of his personal possessions.

He’d bought everything he used in the kitchen with either prize money or money he’d scraped together from odd jobs he’d worked before being hired by Malachi.

The stainless steel bowls, the knives, the cutting boards, the spoons, the vintage glass bottles that held each one of his wing sauces. They all belonged to him. But he swore to himself that the next asshole who walked through the door and asked about that man, he’d make an exception and toss a knife. If he was lucky, he’d skewer someone.

“Shit.” He was shaking.

He braced his hands on the counter and locked his elbows. His muscles strained and shook. He was so… He was… “Fuck.” He was so turned on he almost couldn’t stand it.

“Abraham?”

Son of a… “You’re not supposed to be back here,” he said softly, hoping for some control over his wild emotions.

“I’m not your enemy.”

“You’re the bane of my existence.”

“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think? I’m trying to do something good here.”

Abe looked up, counted to ten while he focused on a splotch of wing sauce on the wall opposite him. He’d scrubbed and scrubbed at that little spot, but it just never went away. It was the only thing that marred his pristine kitchen.

He turned his head to look the businessman in the eye.

Beautiful golden eyes. He could be a cat with those eyes and that blond hair.

And Abe could gag himself with romantic prose.

“Do you know me?”

“Not really. Only what I’ve read.”

“Hmm…” Abe nodded; decision made. He hoped he didn’t regret it. He hoped the man trespassing in his kitchen never came back. “I told you money didn’t matter to me. You go look up my family. You look up where I come from. You learn about why I am no longer there and why I’m happy in the kitchen, making wings in a gay cowboy bar in Austin. If after that, you still want to talk and you still think you’ve got anything I’d be remotely interested in, you come see me. But not before. Deal?”

They kept eye contact for several minutes and Abe thought the man wasn’t going to agree, which would’ve been more than fine, but he finally nodded. “Deal.”

“Good.” Not really.

“I’ll be back in a couple of days.”

Abe laughed at the confidence of the man in the suit. “A couple of days? It’ll take longer than that to get the answers.”

“You don’t know me or my level of determination to get what I want once I make the decision.”

“You don’t know the quagmire of my family.”

“Everyone has family shit, Abraham. Yours isn’t any more special than anyone else’s. Likely, it’s just different.”

That was true. All of it. Didn’t mean Abe had to like it. He wasn’t special and his shit wasn’t either, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t like someone to think he was.

At the same time that thought entered his head, he shook it away. He wasn’t interested in anyone taking an interest in him long enough for him to become special.

“I’ll see you soon.” The man set his business card down on the counter. “Maybe even sooner than soon.”

“Sooner?”

“If you call me.”

“Not gonna happen.”

The man smiled and it lit up his face causing Abe’s breath to catch in his throat.

He’d never seen a man quite as handsome as the one in the expensive suit. Good looking men, yes. But there was something different about this one.

Abe didn’t know his name. He hadn’t paid that much attention. He didn’t care before and he didn’t care now, but the man definitely knew what his strengths were and the way he carried himself, the confidence and tenaciousness, the smile…

Good thing Abe was immune to shit like that.

Lesser men wouldn’t be, and they’d be putty, to be molded and squished.

That didn’t mean Abe couldn’t appreciate beauty and drive when he saw it.

He just didn’t want anything to do with it.

“Abraham…”

“Abe.”

“I prefer Abraham.”

“Then feel free to change your name. I answer to Abe.”

“I think you’ve answered to Abraham every time I’ve said it. So, clearly…”

“Get out.”

“That’s your defense, isn’t it? Telling people to get out. Keeping them at arm’s length.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“I know enough, and you’ve given me permission to go digging around for more. How could that not make me smile?”

Abe’s brow dipped and wrinkled as he pushed the man’s words around in his head. What was he so happy about? Why was he so happy about it?

He was trying to make money off Abe’s sauces and off Abe.

Abe felt as though he was missing something, he just couldn’t figure out what it was. “Whatever, man. Whatever. It’s time for you to go. I’ve got work to do.”

“Please just think about my offer.”

“I’m not interested in your offer.”

“What are you interested in?”

W… T… A… F…? “You getting out of my kitchen.”

The smile widened and the eyes brightened. The man looked to be on the verge of laughing and Abe told himself a hundred times in the space of a few seconds that he didn’t want to hear that laughter.

He was lying, too. He wanted to hear it. He imagined what it would sound like based on the man’s easy, rumbling, just crawled-out-of-bed-after-a-night-of-hot-sex voice.

He was scared shitless of hearing it, too.

He was already hard enough. His dick was already straining against the confines of his jeans. He didn’t need to get any harder.

“I will be back, Abraham.”

“Abe,” he grated out.

“Abraham,” the man emphasized, chuckling low. “And don’t worry about how many times you’ll rub your thumb over the lettering on my business card. It won’t wear off, but in the event that does happen, I will provide you with as many as you need.”

“Where do you get the idea that I’m going to give a fuck about your business card and what it says?”

“The sizeable bulge in your pants for one.”

“Jesus. You can’t see it. Is this how you talk to all prospective clients?”

“No. Just you it seems. And you just admitted it.”

“Aren’t I special?”

“You just might be.”

“It’s not very professional.”

“It’s not, but it’s kept you talking to me for a few minutes more, so maybe it’s the right tactic.”

Shit. “You’re a good looking man.” Abe shrugged. “I haven’t gotten laid in a while. It happens.”

“Yes, I am and yes, it does. I’ll be back in a couple days, Abraham and we’ll sort all this out.”

Abe waved the man away and it wasn’t long before the heels of his dress shoes clacked across the floor and disappeared. Abe was tempted to watch the man leave the building, but that’s what the bastard would want. Abe wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction. Nope. Not an ounce of it.

He wasn’t even going to give the man the… Abe cut his thoughts off before he could finish them. He clearly wasn’t fooling anyone with his bratty, asshole behavior.

Fuck.

He picked up the business card. Eye blindingly white with raised black lettering. Elegant. High end. The man had excellent taste from shoes to suit to business card.

And he made Abe want to throw down in a way no man had in more years than Abe wanted to count back from.

He sighed and did the one thing he said he wasn’t going to do… Looked at the man’s name.

Jeremiah.