Page 3 of The Barkeep and the Bro

I took a break from chopping wood and joined my friends at the patio table. It was a cold morning but warm enough that we could eat and drink coffee without freezing our nuts off. I took the spotlight off me and asked how their kids were doing. Leo got me up to speed on the film his daughter was shooting, and then Cal regaled me with the camping trip he and Russ were planning for their wilderness troop. Time flew when we beat our gums.

I carried the wood to the pile behind the house, saving three logs for the fireplace.

We made our way inside. Leo brewed another pot of coffee and poured us each a mug. He was the most addicted to caffeine in the group.

I relaxed in my recliner while the guys took the small, old couch. This was a house designed for one.

My body sunk into the cushy leather. I would have fallen back asleep were they not there.

“Did Ellie and Tim set a date yet?” Cal asked.

“Not yet.” Ellie and her fiance were deep into researching ideas and themes for their wedding. It was a step up from my wedding to her mother, which consisted of me shitting bricks and sweating bullets while my parents judged from the back row of the courtroom.

“They really seem in love,” Leo said.

“Everyone around me is in love,” I said, closing my eyes.

Leo and Cal left a few minutes later. They had families and boyfriends to tend to. I got to enjoy the rest of my lazy Sunday morning. There were perks to being a loner.

2

CHARLIE

“Charlie fucking Porterfield. You are the man.”

I gave myself a grin in the mirror.

“You’re jacked.” I flexed my pecs, still flecked with water from the shower. “You’ve got a full head of hair.” I swished my thick brown hair, wet strands falling in my face. Thanks to the genetic gods, I’d be keeping this hair until I’m eighty.

“According to multiple sources, you’re definitely packing heat.” I opened my towel, letting my eyes drift down my six-pack to my most prized appendage. Despite being on the shorter side for guys at five-six, mother nature made up for it with a good-sized dick. My former conquests were all pleasantly surprised at its stature. Trimming my bush had a side view mirror effect of making objects appear bigger, too.

“And most importantly, you’ve got a hot-as-fuck girlfriend and a primo job.”

I nodded back at myself, chin up. Whatever tiny doubts and objections swirled in my head at the moment, they were drowned out by the affirmative sound of my voice.

The voice of truth.

I was Charlie Fucking Porterfield. (Actual middle name: Brent.)

And I was the man.

Life was going great, despite what a different voice in my head liked to whisper at inopportune times. I’d read about the importance of saying positive things to yourself every morning, putting these thoughts out into the universe so they became real.

And it worked.

“Charlie, are you almost done in there?” my girlfriend Serena called from the bedroom.

I gave myself one moreyou got thisnod and opened my towel to check out my dick again.We ready to slay today?

“All yours.”

Serena waited on the bed, checking her phone, looking hot as ever. Two years in, and I was still struck by how gorgeous she was. A sexy, ambitious gazelle. Her soft features belied a ferocious animal instinct.

I climbed on top of her.

“Charlie.”

“What? The bathroom’s all yours,” I said while kissing her neck. “Nothing’s stopping you.”

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