Rowan can’t help the corners of his lips turning up. “Yeah.”

“Good for you. Malcolm’s picky as hell.” He leans closer and drops his voice. “Which is also good for me, since I always make a killing in tips from his rejects.”

Rowan laughs, picturing the scenario perfectly. Dejected men slumping down at the bar, throwing their money at the next pretty thing they see after being turned down by Mal, probably not for the first time. He’s reasonably sure at least two of the men at the bar were in the room with him when Mal picked.

“Anything I can get for you?”

“No thanks, just waiting on Mal—uh, Malcolm.”

Rowan stops himself from saying Mal because he isn’t actually sure if the other man wants people knowing his nickname. Clearly everyone here refers to him as Malcolm, so it’s a safe bet to stick with that when they’re not in private. The little flip in his stomach returns tenfold at the thought of already having a thing between the two of them, but it’s likely that Rowan’s reading too much into things.

To his surprise, Jeremiah’s eyebrows shoot up to his forehead. “Oh?”

“Oh… what?”

Jeremiah’s lips pull back into a secretive smile as he takes a black cloth from behind the counter and wipes away a condensation ring on the bar. “Just surprised, is all.”

Man, for a guy who’s seemingly extremely open about things, everyone is secretive as fuck about Mal.

“Why?”

“He’s usually a one-and-done guy when he’s not subbing for someone long term.”

Once again Rowan’s unsure if he should mention their soon-to-be Dom/sub relationship, but he figures they’re going to be seen together at the club, so it couldn’t hurt to share with a staff member.

“Ah, we’re kinda….”

“Hooo-ly shit,” Jeremiah laughs. “First day at the club and you’ve managed to snag the most sought-after fish in the pond.”

Yeah. He kinda did, huh? Unless Mal decides sometime between now and whenever that Rowan’s not up to his standards and seeks out someone else. It seems he’d have plenty of options.

Rowan gets that now too. Why apparently everyone wants a piece of him. There’s something deeply satisfying about getting to tame someone like Mal. Like Malcolm. To take this wild, feral thing and bump him down a notch or two because that’s exactly what he wants.

And Rowan hasn’t really tamed him. Not yet. Probably won’t ever be able to, and that thought renews all his vigor in an instant before Jeremiah speaks again.

“Should’ve taken a swing at you when I had the chance.”

“Hands off, Jer,” Mal’s voice sounds from behind Rowan.