Page 7 of Flash

“Ooh, what are you going to do, spank me? I know you’re Big Daddy when it comes to club business, but this is just a little fun. Come on, where’s your sense of loyalty? I was disrespected, there have to be consequences for that.”

Jag is all drama, and all I can do is huff a laugh and shake my head. When it’s clear that I’m not going to pitch too much of a fit about the whole thing, Hero grins.

“Yeah, that sounds fun. Let’s do it.”

Piston shrugs. “Sure, but seriously, nothing illegal.”

I sigh. Clearly, I’m not going to talk them out of this, but I’m staying the hell away from it. God knows that once Jag gets an idea like this, he’s like a dog with a bone. Thoughts and prayers for the poor flower shop twink.

Chapter 3

LEWIS

I don’t know what I’m even doing at Wooley’s, Fall Crosse’s only gay bar, when I’m still hungover from last night. I nudge the untouched glass in front of me farther away so I can stop smelling the gag-inducing stench of vodka coming from it, not at all diluted by the soda. It’s quiet, which isn’t surprising for a Monday night. There are just a few guys seated along the bar, enjoying a drink by themselves just like I am, and a smattering of small groups gathered around tables or playing pool.

The song playing on the jukebox comes to an end, and when the next one starts up, I grit my teeth, my blood pressure spiking so quickly I won’t be surprised if I stroke out right here and now.

“Noooo,” I groan, banging my forehead lightly against the bar top and immediately regretting it when I feel how sticky the surface is.

“Not a fan of the Barbie soundtrack?” The smooth, deep voice rolls through me like a clap of thunder, vibrating in my bones and making my stomach quiver. I know that voice. Fuck, do I know that voice. It’s been playing on a loop in my fantasies for the past four weeks.

All the blood in my body rushes straight into my cock and I slowly lift my head off the bar. Surely, I’m experiencing an auditory hallucination brought on by the torture of having to listen to this same song on repeat all day long like I’m in some extremely cruel circle of hell. This is the bad place. It has to be, right?

I slowly swivel on my stool, fully prepared to find no one there. To my delighted surprise, either my hallucination was kind enough to fully materialize or there actually is six feet of inked, muscled, silver daddy standing less than a foot away from me. My eyes travel slowly upward from his jeans, which cling to his thighs like they’re molded directly to every muscle, to the Nirvana t-shirt that fits him like he’s been wearing it since high school and probably about thirty pounds of muscle ago, and finally up to the smirking face that’s been haunting my wet dreams for a month.

I swallow hard and just stare at him for several way-too-long seconds. This man has to think I’m a moron, right? Hopefully he at least thinks I’m a hot moron. Given the way his eyes are roaming over me the same way mine just gobbled him up, there’s a good chance.

“Arrow,” I finally say.

“Mind if I sit here?” He gestures at the empty stool next to me and I bobble my head wordlessly, then snap out of my boner-induced stupor.

“Yeah, of course.” I nudge the stool towards him and reach for the drink in front of me. Drinking it is no more appealing than it was two minutes ago, but at least it’s something to do with my hands.

I angle myself towards him and drag my thumb back and forth over the smooth surface of the glass, smearing beads of condensation across it. I continue to devour Arrow greedily with my eyes as he flags down the bartender and orders a beer and a glass of water, my knee bouncing and my heart slamming violently into my ribcage like it’s trying to make an escape.

This isn’t the first time I’ve bumped into a hookup after the fact, but I’m never sure what the right course of action is. Do I address the elephant in the room and make up some excuse about why I never called him? Does he even care that I never called? Maybe he’s just being polite. He spotted me and figured it would be rude not to come over and sit down. More likely he’s looking for another quick and dirty hookup. Oh, please, please, please let that be what he’s after. I promise to be a good boy the rest of the year, and I won’t even ask for anything for Christmas.

The bartender sets Arrow’s drink in front of him. He takes a sip, then turns towards me, our knees bumping.

“You come to Wooley’s often?” he asks.

I rasp out a laugh and then tut. “Arrow, Arrow, Arrow. Just because you look old doesn’t mean you have to use such a dated pickup line.”

He clasps a hand over his chest, feigning chest pains. “I look old? Fuck, just take me out back and shoot me already.”

“It’s the silver hair.” I reach over and run my fingers through his gray beard, the nervous feelings inside of me morphing into the bold, horny ones I’m used to. “But it’s a really hot old, if that helps. Like ‘spank me, silver Daddy’ vibes.”

His steely eyes dance with molten heat. He leans over closer and lowers his voice. “Only if you ask nicely, Lewis.” There’s just a hint of sternness in his tone that makes my cock throb and kind of makes me wish I was more into Daddy stuff, because damn does Arrow have the vibe for it.

“Maybe later,” I tease.

He sits back and takes another sip from his glass. “And, no, that wasn’t a pickup line. I was actually trying to figure out if I’ve somehow been unlucky enough to miss you every time I’ve been in here before.”

“I come here sometimes, but most of the time I go to Belland or Milwaukee if I’m in the mood to hit the bar.”

“Less chance of bumping into some guy you never bothered to call?” The edge of teasing in his voice isn’t enough to soften the accusatory blow.

I wince and take a sip of my drink without thinking. As soon as the alcohol hits my tongue, I gag and then sputter a cough, my stomach clenching violently.

---