Jun shifted on his barstool. “You’re in trouble,” he said, clearing his throat.
I laughed loudly. “I bet I am.”
Jun gave me some serious side-eye, but managed to compose himself by the time the bartender returned with one bottled beer and a glass of water with no ice. Jun slid a few dollar bills over, and the bartender left.
“Scrimping on the niceties,” I muttered, then took a drink.
Jun silently sipped his beer.
No one looking to form a lunch date seemed to stop in for at least an hour. It was just me, Jun, muscley bartender—annoyed that I wasn’t buying a drink so he never offered to refill my glass—some locals practically asleep on their tables off to the sides, and a group of obnoxious college kids screaming at the tail end of the hockey game from the right side of the bar. One drunk girl in the gaggle ended up fixated on Jun, even going so far as to send the bartender over with another bottle of Corona.
“I didn’t order this,” Jun said.
“She did,” the bartender replied, pointing across the bar before walking away.
“Oh boy,” Jun said, sighing.
“She’s, like, half your age,” I protested quietly, leaning closer to talk to Jun as we both stared at the girl. “What do you want me to do? Maul you?”
“That’s mean.” He slid the bottle away politely.
I winced. “No,that’smean.” I glanced at the girl, who offered Jun a drunk pout. “I can grope you again. Because she’s not backing down.”
“Behave.”
“Say the word and I’ll be on your lap.”
“Aubrey.”
“No?” I looked at Jun. “I thought you might like that. Lying back as I do all the work.” I lowered my voice but never broke eye contact now that I had him laser-focused on me once more. “Watching me ride you—watching the way I fuck myself on your cock, totally desperate to come all over your chest. Wouldn’t you enj—”
Jun grabbed my face with both hands and planted a big kiss on my mouth, effectively shutting me up. His tongue caressed my lips, and I opened, letting him inside. Heat and Jun and a tang of beer…. Christ, now I really was ready to throw him down and climb up on that dick. He pulled away first, gently letting go.
I whistled. “Holy crap.”
“Sorry.”
“Did I really do that, or were you just telling the nice lady, ‘no, thank you’?”
Jun thumbed the corner of his mouth absently. “You’re insomuch trouble, Mr. Grant.”
“Oh, at this point, I can’t wait, Mr. Tanaka.”
When I thought to look back toward the college kids, Hopeful Drunk Girl was trying her luck with someone her age and orientation.
“Here comes a group,” Jun murmured, nudging my arm.
I leaned toward him, looking around the bartender and shelves of liquor to the front door. Two guys and a woman came in, talking and laughing with the vibe of Conchs, not tourists who came to Barnacles to look like Conchs.
“Do you recognize any of them?” Jun asked.
“Yeah, all of them. Tourists can pay to be brought out for deep-sea fishing. The woman is one of the local captains. Has her own boat. Peg Hart is her name. And that guy on the left, I don’t know his name, but he works for one of the Ghosts of Key West tours. The bald guy—Josh something—he’s one of my contract painters for the Smith Home.”
Jun grunted. “I wonder if they are casual friends or if they hunt treasure together,” he said thoughtfully.
We watched the three motion to the bartender before pulling out chairs at a tall table to the left of the room. They sank into a comfortable chatter, sipping beers like they’d done this routine a thousand times.
“They don’t seem too broken up,” I whispered.
