Page 17 of In the Nick of Time
While Nick puffed his t-shirt away from his sticky, sweaty skin, one of the bartenders came over to take their order.
“Same?” Swanson asked Nick.
“Yes, thanks.”
Swanson ordered a beer for himself. Which, thinking about it, made sense to Nick. The older SPAM agent was definitely more of an ale guy than a pricey whisky guy. Although Nick had no problem imagining him sipping whisky in front of a roaring fireplace with bookshelves on either side of it. Nick added a sheepskin rug on the oak floor to his fantasy. A guy could dream.
Seconds later, fresh drinks were set in front of them.
“What do we do now?” Nick asked. “Have you seen anyone go back there?”
“Nope. Not yet.”
“I bet Sven would get you an invite,” Nick snarked. “By the way, can I call you Doug? All this calling you Swanson in my head is messing with my vibe.”
Ignoring him, Doug took a long sip of his beer. Nick found himself fascinated by the movement of Doug’s Adam’s apple as he swallowed. Nick was a sucker for a sexy throat. He stared down at his drink. Maybe he’d sip this one instead of gulping it down.
“We’ll need to return tomorrow night,” Swanson announced. “And yes, Nick, you are allowed to use my first name.”
“Oh god, why do we have to come back?” Clubbing once? Fine. Again, the very next day? The magic would be gone.
“SPAM will work to get us an invitation to the back. I needed to see this place before then.”
Fuck sipping. Nick gulped his drink.
“I’ve got to work off this Red Bull if I’m sleeping at all tonight.” Draining the cup, Nick plopped it down and headed back to the dance floor to put on a show for Mr. Grumpy Pants. They may have been SPAM agents on a mission, but Nick was going to do his best to make sure that Sven never entered Doug’s thoughts.
“Wake up.”
“No.”
Nick burrowed deeper into the pillows, chasing the beckoning amnesia of slumber. His head was achy and all he wanted to do was sleep. He felt himself drifting nearer to the edge of pleasant oblivion. Just a few more minutes.
“Agent Sedgewick.”
Oblivion was obliterated.
“Fuck,” he snarled, throwing one of his pillows to the floor. “What?”
Doug managed to look slightly taken aback. “Are you always this pleasant in the morning?”
“Maybe? What’s it to you?”
“It’s time to get going. We have to interview someone.”
“Someone who?”
Reluctantly, Nick rolled over and flung the covers off. Doug coughed and turned around.
Nick looked down at himself. “Oh, well, sorry. I guess.”
He was naked. Nick vaguely remembered feeling overly warm at some point in the night. He must have stripped down to his birthday suit.
“Where did you sleep?” He didn’t remember Doug being in the bed. But after several strong drinks and a lot of dancing, Nick had been a tad tipsy.
Doug muttered something about the floor, but Nick was too busy trying to figure out where his clothes were. He crouched down to look under the bed.
“Jesus Christ!” He fell backward—still buck naked.
