Page 43 of Gin and Lava

I have credit cards. That’s how the rich live anyway: buy now and worry about it later. This is for a friend’s wedding. I’m supposed to pull out all the stops for my friends, right?

Only, my stress levels start to skyrocket, because now I’m both horny and fucked.

13

MASON

“Hey, I need you out front.”

I look up from my computer where I’m ordering next month’s food supplies to see my bartender, Brad, standing in the doorway of my office. Brad wears flannel in the middle of a hot Hawaiian day like humidity gives him chills and he needs to bundle up like we’re in Alaska. Not that I’m in any position to give fashion advice. Still, the guy’s a poor substitute for Connor. Nobody juggles rum bottles shirtless and packs the Lava with tourists like Connor did. Even Tom Cruise in the 1988 masterpieceCocktailwould be jealous of Connor’s skill. And now, I’m slung with hipster Brad over here, who can mix a drink, sure, but has no sense of creativity, or sex appeal.

Arie should damn well be paying me royalties for stealing Connor out from behind my bar. I get that Arie basically throws chocolate on her pussy every night at Flambé and Connor gets to lap it up. The sexy part I understand, but damn, my bottom line took a major hit when Connor choose Flambé over friendship.

Not that I’m bitter. Looking at inadequacy-lumberjack Brad always reminds me that the universe likes to dangle good things in my face and take them away just as quickly.

Plus, Connor and Arie might actually be in love.

“Do you need to take your break?” I ask Brad. I glance at the clock. It’s mid-day during a boring-ass mid-week shift. I’m sure we’re the Sahara Desert of empty in the main room. Tips have probably been shit and I know this bearded fucker needs a cigarette, or a vape, or whatever it is he goes out back and puffs on like it’s his mother’s tit.

“Uh, yeah, I could do that too,” Brad says. “But there’s a customer out front that wants to talk to you.” He motions to the bar.

“Did you say something nasty to offend them?” I push my seat back and stand up. “Because if that’s the case, tell me what you said, so I can say something five-times more offensive and laugh about the poor internet review we’ll get afterwards.”

Okay, maybe it isn’t just the lack of Connor that hurts my bottom line. I just can’t stand people who want to get all uppity about swearing when they’re in a damn tiki bar. If the Lick-My-Pussy Hard Lemonade that’s on special today isn’t offensive enough to make them walk back out the door, then they have what’s coming to them.

“No,” Brad says, shaking his head. “Pretty girl. Blonde hair. She says you guys are friends.”

Oh, fuck.

I think I just lost fifty bucks to Connor.

And my cock just woke up. Traitor. Where were you Friday night with Annabelle?

“Is she skinny?” I ask. “And probably wearing a bunch of gold jewelry that looks like it’s worth more than your paycheck?”

He nods. “Yup, that’s her.”

I run my hands through my hair. What the hell is Naomi doing at the Gin n’ Lava on a Wednesday afternoon?

“Is she your girlfriend?” Brad asks, being a nosy twerp.

“Absolutely not,” I say, shutting my laptop and slipping on flipflops so I don’t break the health code by walking into the main room barefoot.

“But you want her to be?” Brad presses, asking with an edge in his voice that suggests he wouldn’t mind me putting in a good word with her if the answer is I’m not interested.

Damn, scrappy, lumberjack fuck.

“Take your break, asshole,” I say, pointing to the back door where he can go vape himself into oblivion. Brad disappears without another word, and I run my hands through my short spikey hair again like a nervous teenager. The last time I saw this woman she was literally coming on my cock so hard I think she had a religious experience. But that still doesn’t explain what she’s doinghere.

Fuck it. We can be friends. Right?

I walk out to the main room like I could care less, and sure as shit, Naomi is sitting at a barstool with her back to me. She’s haloed by fish lamps and shark-tooth garlands, looking completely out of place in something sleek and expensive that shows off her legs. She could totally give Daryl Hannah inSplasha run for her money in the out-of-this-world sexy department—mermaid or human.

I grab one of the tiki glasses off the shelf and walk up to her, dropping it loudly on the bar and starting to fill it with lemonade.

“Are you here for the Lick-My-Pussy Hard Lemonade special, or are you just happy to see me?” I ask, throwing on a grin as she turns. To my surprise a wicked-blush runs up Naomi’s neck like I just asked if I could lickherpussy on my bar top. Not that I’d say no, if she offered.

“W-what?” she looks at me confused, and for a split second I swear her eyes sayyes my pussy absolutely needs some Mason face time. That’sexactly what I came here for.Only, I was drunk the last time she looked at me with that flush of need. I didn’t trust it then, and I don’t trust it now.

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