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My phone buzzes with an incoming message. I fully expect it to be from Carrie, asking if I’m still breathing or to send two thumbs up emojis if I need her to task the whole of Hawaii Army National Guard with a rescue mission. Yet I’m surprised to see a text from Allen, my boss in Denver.
I need a status report, Darling. Have you uncovered any details yet?
His assumption that I’ve cracked the source code of some large web of secrets within two days is unrealistic. However, I can’t say it catches me by total surprise. This is very much an Allen Downing type of behavior. The same man that said if I didn’t start proving my worth with this assignment, he’d give the prospect of my promotion to a more deserving colleague. And I’d be seeing my final paycheck before I made it safely back to Colorado.
Surprising for being rich and famous, but another few minutes of Reid’s careful driving has us in the parking lot of his friend’s nightclub. The Twisted Nip seems to be a cool place. There’s no way this kind of a flashy establishment would be found within the city limits of an area like Grand Junction, Colorado. Not since the gun toting hordes of homophobes hail to their certain Queen Brat at the nation’s capitol.
“You ready, my gorgeous Banana Boy?” Reid asks, reaching down to help me out of the passenger seat like a gentleman.
Another painful grimace strikes my face. “I guess so, Daddy,” I admit, fully cognizant that people inside are going to immediately judge me by my birthmark.
His eyes narrow intently with a degree of certitude painting his demeanor. “And if anyone even looks at you wrong, Daddy will knock them out cold.”
That reply placates my worry, if even a little. “You will?”
“Of course,” he laughs, pushing the passenger door shut. “I can post bail.”
My Island Daddy escorts me through a door, outlined by a thin tube of neon pink. The music inside is loud, instantly piercing my eardrums. If it weren’t for having a sight for sore eyes around my shoulders, I’d probably choose to leave. Reid nudges me through a coat room to the main club area, where this music is even a few decibels louder than the entrance.
Reid leans into my left ear. “We’ll get a nice cocktail in you soon enough, boy,” he assures me, seemingly quite intent on a dance show tonight.Even if it takes twelve.“But first I need to make my rounds.”
This must be part of the expectation being someone of his stature. He shouts across the room, garnering the attention of a Hawaiian native fella. “Keone!”
The man shuffles ten paces towards us, donning a big, friendly grin. He’s a fluffier dude, apparently brimming with hospitality and kindness. “Reid,” Keone says, reaching for Daddy’s shoulder. “Who’s this handsome kane you’ve got here?” He asks, winking.
Reid grips both of my shoulders, slightly pushing me forward. “This boy hails from Colorado,” he affirms, as if he’s proud that I come from the most boring state. “Meet Kragen Darling,” he adds, shouting into my ear. “This is my friend Keone Kelekolio.”
Keone smiles again. “Welcome to my club, Kragen,” he says. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Reid wraps a short conversation with the owner before passing me here and there. I’ve already met ten of his friends by the time we reach the bar. Speaking of, the bartender is pouring drinks at a rapid pace, with a large tank stocked with dozens of tropical fish in the background. He looks up into our direction, pushing his chin up in the air like the island jock that he probably is.
“What’s up, Lance?” Reid asks, showing me off like a prized bull at the Mesa County Fair. “This is my—” he pauses. “My friend, Kragen.”
Lance repeats his groovy chin maneuver. “Sup Kragen, what can I pour you fellas?”
My limited knowledge of alcohol seems embarrassing in front of a for all intents and purposes, mixologist. And of course my Island Daddy who’s probably had every cocktail under the sun at least once. I scratch my head, trying to place a finger on what I’d like to drink. Mai Tai’s are probably so cliché that I’d be shown the door just by requesting one.
“What do you like to make, Lance?” I ask, leaving my drink of choice up to chance or some shit.
The bartender’s eyes liven. “Mmmmm, you’ve brought me a virgin tonight, Reid,” he giggles. “I’ll make you an Aunt Roberta,” he proclaims.
Daddy’s immediate shift in tone couldn’t catch me more off-guard.Something he does frequently, honestly. Is he bipolar?
“The fuck you will,” Reid hisses. “Maybe something a bit milder?”
Finally, there is one drink name which I’ve seen on the web but never tried. “I’ll try a Kula Negroni, I suppose.”
Reid’s warm breath bounces off my right earlobe. “Are you sure, boy?”
“You bet,” I assure him, unaware what it tastes like.But if it’s Hawaiian, it has to be tropical, right?“I’m seriously thirsty, Daddy,” I whisper back, tickling his balls from under the bar.
If secretly teasing his cock in public doesn’t let me get away with murder, then I don’t know what will.
* * *
Three of those bad boys later has the Earth spinning ever so slightly. I’m elated as all fuck, which means I might have it in me to sneak a peek into Reid’s phone. I’m still here on a mission after all, and this honestly wouldn’t have been as easy had I walked into his corporate office on Monday morning.
He glances at me over his shoulder, winking with a neon blue glint at the corner of his left eye. “Are you okay, Banana Boy?”
