“Why did you have to choose security?” he lamented.
“What else would I be good at?”
Turning his head, Andrew thought Ford’s expression seemed oddly serious. “I should cry wolf…”
“No professional courtesy?”
“Fuck you.”
Ford slid his eyes over Andrew slyly. “Again? Would that seal your lips?”
Andrew felt his cheeks darken further. He hadn’t wanted to give in that night at Christmas. He’d never taken Ford’s advances seriously before, but when presented with the option on one of his worst nights in recent memory, and with just the right amount of wine to tip his judgment, he’d taken his anger out on a willing participant—and loved it.
He hated how much he’d loved it.
“You seem tense,” Ford said.
“Can’t imagine why.”
“We’re in the back, Andrew. Alone. In the dark. At a table that can easily conceal any dirty deeds we do. Think anyone would notice if I slipped my hand down your pants?”