Page 4 of The Barn: Frost and Q
“I’ll send you a link. Anyway, everyone who has tickets to the gala has been vetted, background checks are done, everything looks golden. Best of all, everyone’s checks have cashed, and payroll is good to go on the bank end.”
“Cool. I’ll have Carson go check on the Dom. That just seems strange.”
Quentin shrugged. “I don’t know, I personally think staying up in your cabin for weeks on end is a perfectly reasonable thing, but I’m just me.”
“You’re just scared you’re too short to hit the buttons in the elevator.”
Oh, that was a good one. Still, Q had to respond. “Fuck you.”
“You wish. Again, you’re awfully short, and besides that, you’re not my type.” Boone was just laughing his ass off now.
“Hey! I’m hot.” Right?
“Yep. Also you’re little. I like my guys big and beefy.”
“I know. You’re way into topping the stud muffins, huh?” Weirdo.
“Yeah, and you know I adore you, man. I think you’re great, but muscle-bound? No. In fact, I could stick you in a straw and blow you across the room.”
That would be more blow than he’d gotten in a long time.
He sighed. “Anything else?”
“Yes. For the love of God, eat something. But I will leave you to it.”
“That was a great meeting.” He waggled his fingers as if Boone could see him.. “See you tomorrow.”
“Yep.” Boone made kissy sounds at him over the line. “Love you, awesome nerd.”
“You too.” And he did. He loved all the guys here at the Barn. Boone, Tug, Carson…they were great friends.
And well, Frost was the fucking love of his life, and every day, he wondered why the man didn’t just sign the divorce papers. They’d been just hanging in the air between them, metaphorically, for weeks.
Of course, he hadn’t signed them either. Or served them.
They were just sitting in a desk drawer.
Boone hung up, and the silence rang in his rooms, so he reached for the key to turn on his music again. Which was when the door buzzed, damn near giving him a heart attack.
He keyed the intercom on his phone. There was a receiver on the door panel. “Yeah?”
“Let me in, Q. My hands are full.”
Shit. Frost. Food. Okay. He took a deep breath, then wheeled over to open the door.
“Thanks.” Frost pushed inside, a big tray in his hands. Whatever was under those stainless-steel cloches smelled good enough to make his mouth water. Okay, maybe it had been a while since he’d eaten something that resembled a meal. Protein shakes were fine and all…
“What are you doing?” Q asked, wheeling back to make room for Frost’s big damn body. Which smelled even better than the food. Soap and musk and that all-over body spray scented with bergamot.
“Bringing you food. Chef made cinnamon roll pancakes and bacon. There’s also blueberry muffins from this morning, that green tea with orange that you like, and scones. He kinda went all out.” Frost strode across the room to put the tray on his little dining nook table, using the corner of the tray to shove aside a stack of magazines and mail.
“Careful,” he snapped. That was his personally curated pile of nothing he needed.
“Oh, like you even look at this shit. You do it all online. Come eat.”
Quentin fought not to roll his eyes. But he did move over to slide in by the table while Frost uncovered plates.
It all looked amazing, but the fluffy pancakes with the cinnamon roll swirl and lines of icing made him sweat a little. “You didn’t need to?—”
