“Fair enough. And coffee for me, for the record. Coffee as black as my soul.”
“So, with lots of cream then?” he teases, and I chuckle. He’s not wrong.
Just like last night, when we near the bar, there’s a noisy crowd spilling out onto the street, music pouring from inside. People of all types dance on the sidewalk and in the street, drinks in hand, laughter filling the pheromone-and-cologne-heavy air.
Flynn and I work our way through the crowd. Surprisingly, it’s thinned out inside. I guess partying in the street isn’t out of necessity. There’s a heavily tattooed bartender mixing drinks and giving customers flirty smiles and an adorable blond twink, who looks too young to even be in here, collecting the orders from the bar and hurrying them around to different tables.
We approach the bar, and the bartender grants us each a smile as well. He’s almosttoogood-looking up close. The kind of hot that makes you feel like you’re not supposed to look too long, or it might scar your retinas like the sun. He has a small hoop through his left nostril and dark-brown eyes that are nearly impossible to escape from. His name tag saysTen,and boy is he.
“What can I get for you, fellas?” he asks, putting both hands on the bar, his tight white T-shirt straining against the bulge of his biceps as he leans forward just enough to make it feel like we have his full attention, at least for a few minutes. Dude is good. He must get tips like whoa.
“Long Island Iced Tea,” I order, and Flynn asks for the same.
While Ten gets to work mixing those for us, Boston appears from a room in the back. He looks significantly less pissed off than he was earlier down by the cove, a relaxed smile on his lips now as he replaces some empty bottles with full ones.
When he spots the two of us, he gives a contrite look and makes his way over. “Hey, sorry about earlier,” he says. “Trick has this fucking way of…you know what? It doesn’t matter. I didn’t mean to ruin your day or make things weird down at the cove. So, first round of drinks is on the house, okay?”
“Cool, thanks,” I say.
Ten sets the drinks on the bar, and we grab them. I take the first sip and nearly sputter from how strong it is. Perfect. I need to let loose and find a way to remind myself that this is probably just a vacation fling for Flynn. After all, he flat out said he doesn’t do relationships.
“Do you want to dance?” he asks, leaning close so I can hear him over the loud music.
I take another sip from my drink and nod. Flynn puts a warm, firm hand on my lower back andsteers me over to an open spot on the floor where a small crowd is drunkenly shaking their asses to the music.
Okay, time to remind myself that this is just a vacation fling and that as long as I can keep things in perspective, maybe we can see each other as friends once we’re home.
FLYNN
Almost as soon as we start dancing, Real puts space between us. It’s a subtle move that I might not have noticed if I wasn’t so desperate to have my hands all over him, but it’s undeniable. He sways his hips, sipping from his drink in between lip-syncing along with the music. My eyes drop to his ass, tempting as hell in the tight jeans he put on tonight. He chose another open, billowy shirt as well, showing off his tattoo and his lean torso.
Several people eye him with interest, but he doesn’t seem to notice. I dance close but give him the space he seems to want, and I consider what might have gone wrong between the cove and the shower.
We were talking and laughing all the way up to my room, and as soon as we got inside, I pressed him up against the wall and kissed him senseless, devouring his mouth and grinding my hardening cock against his. He didn’t seem to have any complaints. He kissed me back and teasedme through my wet swim trunks. I even have a hickey near my Adam’s apple from where he got carried away before we stumbled our way into the bathroom.
It was as soon as we stepped into the shower together that he got quiet and distant. He was like this when we were kids too. He gets completely in his own head about something and works himself up. And, of course, I’m no smooth talker. I’ve never been good at figuring out the right things to say when he gets like this.
The dude with the pink hair from last night—I think his name is Goose—dances his way over and moves in close to my man. I bite back a growl, all kinds of possessive caveman urges rearing up inside me.
He slips an arm around Real’s waist, and he doesn’t protest, just smiles and grinds against him.
Nope. No.
I don’t care if it makes me an asshole. No one’s lips are going to be brushing against Real’s ear but mine.
“Don’t you have a boyfriend?” I ask, putting a hand on Real’s hip and leaning around him to address Pigeon or whatever the fuck his name is.
His bright-pink hair hangs messily over his forehead, and he quirks an eyebrow at me. “You must have me confused with someone else, stud.”
“No, I’m pretty sure you were licking some guy’s tonsils last night at the beach.”
He lets out an airy laugh. “You only kiss guys you’re committed to? How very Amish of you.” He presses a kiss to Real’s cheek, leaving it glistening with a shimmery lip gloss, and then unwinds his arm from around his middle and moves in on another target without a moment of hesitation. His new plaything seems happy enough to have the attention.
I snag Real by the upper arm, fully aware that I’m acting like a complete jealous prick right now, but unable to help myself as blood rushes in my ears and the wordminereplays over and over again until my entire body is buzzing with it.
“What the hell was that?” he demands, stumbling after me as I wind through the bar in search of somewhere private to talk with him. I find the restroom, and it’s blessedly empty, so I yank him inside. “What—”
I cut him off with a rough kiss, pushing him up against the nearest wall and shoving my tongue between his lips. He moans into my mouth, grabbing the front of my shirt and twisting it in his grasp.
