Page 32 of The Barkeep and the Bro

“Do you have protection?” I asked.

Amos gave me a thumbs up. His gaze followed something behind me.

“Oh Em Gee. Your boss is here,” he said, his breath rank with Mai Tais.

I followed his eye line to Mitch, who was there with his mayor friend from the bar and some other guys I didn’t recognize.

“He’s hot,” Amos said, taking the fucking words out of my head. “It’s a good thing you’re straight.”

“He’s almost twenty years older than us.”

“Doesn’t make it not true.”

I gave him a hug and watched him go back to his new man. Mitch and his friends walked across the dance floor to the back bar. My heart beat wildly in my chest and a familiar warmth spread through me the whole time I watched them.

Mitch had on a flannel shirt that stretched across his broad chest and arms and tight black jeans that hugged things I shouldn’t have been looking at.

And then he found me.

From across the dark, crowded room, his eyes found mine.

The heavy feeling in my gut returned.

Do I wave? Do I hide?

I gave a half-hearted nod. My body could barely move.

His face was stone. He shot me the barest, briefest flint of recognition, but his dark eyes stayed on me. They held me in place, stripping me down and seeing every part of myself.

Holy fuck. My dick got rock hard and pushed against my fly. My groin ached in the tight quarters.

Thoughts flashed in my head like he was serving them to me telepathically. Of our bodies pressed together. Of his calloused hands on my body. Of his beard prickling my face.

And then he was gone. Back with his friends ordering drinks. I could breathe again.

I left the bar and ordered an Uber. When I got home, I headed right for the bathroom and desecrated Amos’s newly remodeled shower once more.

11

MITCH

When things were busy at the bar, time didn’t exist. The hands on the clock moved like a comet flashing through the sky, six hours passing in seconds.

And then there were days like today when each minute dragged like the clock was soaked in molasses.

Mondays were our slowest nights, but tonight was especially quiet. It allowed me to get some admin work done upstairs, but I could hear a pin drop in the joint. The loudest noise was that of my bank account dwindling. It was pitch black outside, a typical bleak winter night, so I couldn’t even enjoy the view.

I ambled downstairs sometime after nine. Natasha played on her phone while sitting at the bar. I couldn’t get mad at her because I didn’t know what else she could be doing. Charlie diligently cleaned glasses.

My eyes flickered to him for only a second before a pilot light of heat clicked on inside me, the same way it had when we made eye contact at Remix. His lips pouted in focus as he held a glass to the light to check for water spots. I imagined those lips wrapped around my dick and those big brown eyes looking up at me, wondering if his straight mouth was doing this right.

I slapped my hand on the bar. “Nights like this happen. It’s good practice since you’re still new.”

“That’s when it pays to have games to play on your phone,” Natasha said without looking up.

“Don’t be like Natasha,” I said playfully. “Slower nights let you take stock of how to prepare for when it does get busy. Making sure the bar is organized. Thinking of ways to be more efficient. Checking inventory for any bottles or kegs that are running low.”

“That also means dealing with the stock room,” Charlie said with raised eyebrows.

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