AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I reach the bar, which is a feat in itself, because this place is packed. “Uh, hello? Hi?” No one and nothing hears me. Even the guys I’ve squeezed between barely notice my existence, too absorbed in their own conversation—which I quickly learn has something to do with a technique to restrain your gag reflex during a blowjob. Is this some new form of foreplay? Are guys actually into talking about this? Is it a turn-on?
Finally the bartender appears: a handsome older guy, but not older by much, whose body suggests he spends more than just a few minutes in the gym. What a surprise.
“Hey there, buddy. What can I get you?”
What is a surprise, however, is how warm and kind he seems. I lean forward. “I hear this is where I should come to get a ‘real’ drink?”
“Oh yeah? Who told you?”
“A very drunk guy at the Elysian. I’m staying there. The bar at the resort is nice and all, don’t get me wrong, but it’s … how do I put this? … way too nice.”
The bartender chuckles. “So you decided to come over and slum it at my bar, huh?”
“Oh.” I flush. “Sorry, I meant no offense. I just—”
“Hey, it’s all okay here. Offend all you want. My bar is called the Easy Breezy for a reason, y’know. Here, there’s only chill vibes. No worries, no stresses. My name’s Coop.”
“Jonah.”
Coop does a double take at me. As if my name is also a magic incantation by coincidence, he springs to life, and a glass appears out of nowhere. He tosses together a few things, then slides it over the counter. “On the house.”
“Uh, wow. Why? I can totally pay. I didn’t mean to—”
“Welcome to the Easy Breezy. By the way, we have a couple of dartboards over there by the old jukebox that doesn’t work, and … you look like a dart-throwing kind of guy.” Coop winks, then goes to help someone else.
I’m confused by that rather random observation, but decide to follow his lead. Taking my drink, I carefully cut through the noisy crowd, making my way to the glow that comes from what I presume to be the defunct jukebox.
Then I emerge from the other side of the crowd and find the dartboards at last. Two guys are playing a game.
One of them turns around.
Oh. “Kent?”
His face brightens the second he sees me. “There you are,” he says, like he was expecting me.
The other guy, who is basically a literal beefcake in a too-tight shirt, gives me a look. I recognize that look. It’s a very “who are you, you don’t belong here, how did you get your name on the guest list, only gorgeous people are allowed at this party” look.
And if I’m judging Kent’s instant dismissal of him and his instant interest in my appearance correctly, Beefcake’s company wasn’t intended or desired.
“Who’s this?” asks Beefcake.
(Yes, that’s his name now.)
Who’s this? That’s what he asks Kent. And I hear all of the judgment in that one, singular question. After the day I had with Rico and his unbearably detailed descriptions of what he and Adrian did last night—and how it’s so much better than whatever lame night I had at the hotel, even with his “sensual massage” he ordered me, in which I very deliberately left out telling him about the whole I-came-spontaneously part—I’m in no mood to be pushed around by a runway model I just named Beefcake.
There’s something about my brief time on this island that’s changing me.
So I face beefy boy. “Jonah’s my name. And …” Now I turn back to Kent. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Kent is about to respond when Beefcake steps in. “We were in the middle of a game. Loser buys the winner a—”
“Drink?” I finish, cutting him off. “Really? Lame.” Kent smirks, trying not to laugh. “I’ve got better stakes.” I take the darts straight out of Kent’s hands, surprising him, then face off with an indignant-looking Beefcake. “You and me. Whoever wins the next round gets Kent for the evening.”
Beefcake lifts an eyebrow. “Kent?”
I patiently point a dart at Kent. “Him. The guy whose pants you were trying to win your way into with a drink.”
Beefcake glances at him, putting it together, yet still appearing confused for some reason. Poor guy. Counting past three must be difficult for him, too.
Meanwhile, Kent is lifting his hands in protest. “Hey, I’m not a consolation trophy over here. I’m a human—”
“You’re on,” says Beefcake, deciding suddenly.
“Good.” I gesture toward the board. “Take your shot.”
Beefcake plants his feet all wrong, squints, then flings a dart at the board. Despite his horrible technique, he gets his first throw surprisingly close to the bullseye. The next makes a home in one of the triple spaces. His last dart also gets close to the bullseye, nearly buzzing the feathers off his first one. Satisfied, he collects his darts, then stands back, proud of himself as he crosses his big arms.
