Rain and Whiskey

Man, the joint was rocking -- the new band loud enough to make the bar mats vibrate all along his legs and up through his balls. Jake and Lee both fucking showed up and were working -- Miss Lynn must've torn them new assholes after their last little Saturday night stunt -- pricks.

Shane grabbed a bottle of Cuervo and started pouring a round of shots, laughing at Vic's lame assed joke about titty bars and avoiding old man Robert's roving hands, all the time moving to the music, knowing his ass in those jeans in the big mirror behind the bar? Money in the bank, baby.

Everybody who was anybody stopped by, chatted him up a second, grinning and trying to talk over the music. Jake kept giving him that 'how do you do that' stupid-ass, monkey-face look. Shit, he'd been tending bar here for a good long time -- since Spring Break in '95. He'd come down to play with a couple three baby-faces from college and sorta stuck in the sand and the surf and the good life.

He was thinking he'd not go home after his shift tonight. He liked the crowd, liked the band, got his booze for free. And that way he wouldn't have to deal with that... smell in his apartment.

Whatever the hell it was.

''Can I get a whiskey?'' He could hear that voice right through the music, maybe because it had a drawl that wouldn't quit. Brown eyes, cowboy hat pulled low, and tall enough to lean right over the bar.

Oh, hello.

''Sure enough. You got a preference to type?'' Oh, now, that was just fine enough to lick off a spoon.

''I'm not picky. Jack is fine.'' Fine and looking right back, too. Those sloe eyes went from his face to the mirror behind him and back, not a bit shy.

He flipped the bottle, singing along with the band, distracted by tall, fine and studly enough that old man Roberts managed to sneak a feel of his pecs. ''Watch yourself, man. You know the rules -- Miss Lynn don't allow that at the bar.''

''Thanks. He do that a lot?'' The fella nodded toward their pervy old fixture, hat just dipping.

''Yeah, he tries. Was better when Keith was here. Kid had a nipple ring and kept him busy.'' He winked, pulling his rag from his back pocket, wiping the bar down.

''Well, I can see why he'd be after yours.'' Well, now, that was bold as brass and twice as shiny. Shane flexed a little, knowing that he managed just fine, even after a full shift and a shitload of beer splashed on him. Shifting, Mr. Brown Eyes looked down the bar then back at him. ''You working all night?''

''Nah. I'm off in...'' He craned his neck to see the clock, back popping as he stretched. ''Eighteen minutes.''

''Good.'' There was a wealth of satisfaction in that single word. ''You want to do something when you get off, you come on over to the corner over there.'' And the guy was gone, turning and showing him a fine, fine ass in Levi's on the way.

Fuck, he was easy as 'Come to Jesus' in whole notes.

He did his side-work and got his share of the tips before slipping upstairs and stripping off his black t-shirt, throwing on something whiter and nicer, grabbing his own hat before bebopping back down the stairs. Sure enough, his admirer was right where he said he'd be, sitting in one of the cushy old chairs in the corner farthest from the bar, kicked back, legs spread wide and feet planted. Watching him.

He resisted the urge to smooth his shirt down, nudge his too-interested prick and tell it to be good. No, he moseyed over, chatting a bit, tipping his hat a little. Looking at Fine and Sexy a lot from under the brim of his hat.

Well, he might be feigning a little disinterest, but there wasn't any playacting on the other end of that stare. It was like a laser, cutting through the gloom and the smoke and the dance floor lights, just like a physical touch. And fuck if he didn't just head right over, moth to the flame, body buzzing like he'd had a hit of something wacky.

''Hey.'' Nodding to the chair next to him, the guy looked him over again, and damn. Obviously the once over he'd gotten at the bar had been restrained, because this one made him feel naked, and half-fucked to boot. He got offered a hand to shake. ''I'm Galen.''

''Shane. Pleased.'' His own Tennessee upbringing started to show a little, sort of like the heat in his jeans, which was starting to show a lot.