“What can I get you, sweetheart?”

The blonde woman across from me all but melts into the bar top as she leans over, giving me a front row seat to her cleavage. Her hooded blue eyes peer up at me from beneath her thick lashes, her soft smile inviting and warm. She’s pure sex, and every single man in this bar would kill to be able to take her home.

Except one.

Unfortunately for her, she’s homed in on the one man who’d rather go home with the guy to her left. The dark-haired man with the chocolate eyes—eyes that, at this moment, are trying to discreetly look down the front of the woman’s shirt. I’ll give him props. Most dudes around here wouldn’t have the grace and dignity to try to hide looking at what she’s so blatantly put on display. Maybe I’ll throw the guy a bone and try to get her to focus her attention on him. He seems decent. And, from the looks of this girl, she could use a nice guy who’d respect her.

The girl starts twirling a strand of hair around her finger as she gazes at me, and it takes everything in me not to roll my eyes. Do straight dudes really go for this? The girl is gorgeous as hell. She doesn’t need to try so hard. Putting both hands on the bar, I slide them apart until I’m leaning over, eye-level with the woman. She leans further into me, her face only inches from mine as she smiles.

“What can I get you to drink?” I repeat.

“Sex on the Beach.” It sounds more like a proposition than a drink request.

I wink before straightening. “Coming right up.”

I turn and make her drink, sliding it across the bar with a flourish when it’s complete. She goes to pull some money out of her purse, but I stop her with a wave.

“Already taken care of. Courtesy of that man right there,” I tell her, nodding to the man who’s now vacated the seat next to her but still lingers nearby.

She looks up at me, confusion clear on her face.

I give her a mischievous smile. “He pulled me aside earlier, asked me to help him out. He told me you were the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, but he was too shy to talk to you. I told him I’d work my magic and send you his way,” I say, giving her a playful wink.

She swivels in her seat, giving the man a quick glance, before turning back to me with a pout. “He’s cute. But I sort of have my sights set on someone else.”

She slowly licks her lips, pulling her bottom one in between her teeth, as she looks up at me through her lashes again. I give her the smile—the one that has talked me out of a million situations I’d rather not have been in. And the one that has gotten me invited into the bedroom of every man I’ve ever bestowed it on. The same smile I gave Fisher’s new friend earlier tonight. The guy with the onyx eyes and lips that dreams are made of.

He’s definitely someone I’d like to get to know. Maybe living upstairs from Mormon missionaries won’t be as bad as I thought. At least not if I get to look at that every day.

I blink back the vision of Elder Barker standing on the sidewalk outside my building, turning my attention back to the woman before me. “I’m flattered, sweetheart. And, normally, I’d be all over the idea of spending a little time with someone like you. But I’m taken,” I lie, giving her a sympathetic look.

She deflates, her eyes lowering to the bar in front of her as her lips purse together in a sad line.

“But take it from me; that guy over there, he’d love to get to know you. He’s good people. Why don’t you go over and give him a chance? I think you’ll be happy with what you find.”

The girl turns again, giving the guy another look, before turning back to me with a shrug. “I guess. He seems nice. He’s wearing a tie.”

I laugh. “All the best people wear ties. And you know what else is fun about ties? They’re super gentle on the wrists.” I wink at her again.

Her interest suddenly grows tenfold as she slides off her stool and walks over to the man. After a brief interaction, I see the man look up at me, his brows pulled together in confusion. I lift a beer bottle to him, bringing the forefinger on my other hand to my lips, letting him know it’s our little secret.

He grins at me, and I spend the next few hours watching the two of them dance together. Just before midnight, the guy catches my eye as he ushers her toward the door, draping the suit jacket he was wearing earlier over her shoulders.

Thanks, he mouths.

I nod in response. One of my favorite parts of the job is matchmaking. Too bad jobs like on Hitch don’t really exist. I’d rock that shit.

We have two hours before the bar closes, and they’re the two busiest hours of the night. Everyone is looking to hook up, searching for that special someone to warm their bed…at least for the night. Drinks are ordered left and right, and the time flies by.

I don’t even notice when Rick slides in behind the bar, picking up some of the slack. It’s not until he leans into me, nudging me with an elbow as he jerks his chin in the opposite direction that I even realize he’s there.

“Look at that. Why do they think we want to see that?” he says, disgust dripping from his every word.

I look in the direction he’s staring, seeing two men huddled close together at a table. From their body language, you can tell they’re here together. Like together, together.

When one of the men reaches up and runs his fingers through the other man’s hair, Rick groans. “Oh, c’mon. We don’t need that shit in here.”

I’ve seen the men in here before, but it’s obvious Rick hasn’t. He generally tends to stay locked away in his office, only coming out to circulate the room a few times each night to ensure things are flowing smoothly. And to shoot the shit with me. For some reason, the man has it in his head that we’re besties.

If he only knew, I think with a silent laugh.

“They aren’t hurting anyone, Rick. Let them be,” I say with a shrug, turning to get back to work.

But Rick isn’t giving up so easily. “The hell they aren’t. They’re hurting my stomach. I might throw up if I have to watch them much longer.”

With my back still to him, I can’t resist the rolling my eyes do at his remark. Fucking homophobic prick.

I move along with my nightly closing prep, wiping down the counter behind the bar, when I hear Rick take in a sharp breath. I turn just in time to see the men lean into each other, planting a soft kiss on one another’s lips.

“Oh, fuck no.” Rick seethes.

Before I can grab on to him, he’s over the bar and stomping over to the men at the table.

“All right, boys,” he booms, catching the attention of the few others in the vicinity who aren’t too plastered to realize there’s a scene breaking out behind them. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

The men exchange a confused look before turning to look at Rick.

“Excuse me?” the one closest to Rick says. “Did we do something wrong?”

“Damn right you did. It’s one thing for your kind to come in here. But, when you start with that shit, you’ve got to go.”

The man stands, revealing his large stature and muscled chest. He towers over Rick, having at least six or seven inches on my small boss. But Rick doesn’t back down.

“What are you going to do? Hit me? You think I’m scared of a faggot?”

The man’s face reddens in anger, his hands clenching next to his sides. “I’d like to speak to your manager, please.” His voice is surprisingly smooth, considering his obvious fury.

Rick laughs, the sound coming out grating and harsh. “I am the manager. In fact, I own this establishment. And I have the right to refuse service to anyone I want. Now, please leave the premises quickly. Otherwise, you’ll force my hand, and I’ll have to involve the police.”

Rage flashes in the man’s eyes, and I brace myself for a fight. But, before he’s able to lunge and take hold of Rick’s throat, like I know he wants to—hell, like I want to—his partner grabs onto his shoulders, pulling the furious man back against his chest.

“Let’s go, Dave. It’s not worth it.”

The look in Dave’s eyes tells me he thinks it would be plenty worth it, but he listens to his partner, and I see him visibly relax. He turns, taking his partner’s face in his hands and rubbing his thumbs over his cheeks.

“You’re right, baby. Neanderthals like that aren’t worth it. I love you.” Dave presses a kiss to his lover’s lips, wrapping his arms around the man’s waist and pulling him flush against his hard body.

I move quickly, seizing Rick before he has a chance to act on the thoughts I can practically see forming in his head. “Let it go, man. They’re leaving.”

The two men separate, Dave shooting a smug look over his shoulder as they exit the room. I offer him the most apologetic look I can manage, but he doesn’t seem mollified in the least. Rick will be lucky if this doesn’t end up on the news. He’s always been a prick. But I’ve never seen him kick somebody out because of their sexual orientation. And this is 2017, not 1960. You can’t just refuse service to someone because they’re different. Things here are about to get ugly.

Rick storms off to his office once the men are out of the building, leaving me and the other bartender, Mike, to clean up the mess of the night. Luckily, closing time comes quickly, and we’re locking up within the hour.

The ride home to my apartment passes in a blur. I’m driving on autopilot, and by the time I pull into my usual spot in front of the shitty building, I’m not quite sure how I got there and how many red lights I might’ve run. But there’s one thing I know for sure.

I’m fucking pissed off.

How dare Rick think he could kick those men out just because they had the audacity to share a quick kiss. We’ve had heterosexual couples get busted attempting to have sex on the dance floor. And Rick always just laughs it off, saying, when the mood strikes, nothing can be done to stop it.

Yet these two men exchange a closed-mouth peck and all hell breaks loose.

Such. Fucking. Bullshit.

I bound up the stairs, unlocking my door and slamming it shut behind me. My first stop is in the kitchen where a bottle of Jack Daniel’s awaits me in the cupboard. I pull it out, taking a long swig straight from the bottle. It burns going down but does nothing to stop the anger blossoming in my chest.

I can’t work for that man anymore. I can’t do it.

I can’t continue to act like his behavior is acceptable. I can’t keep letting him tell me all about the homos he saw the other day or the queers who looked at a house down the street.

Taking another hit off the bottle, I storm into the living-room-turned-bedroom and collapse onto the edge of the bed. A mug from the bar sits on the makeshift nightstand I created out of an overturned packing box. I use the mug to hold various bedroom bric-a-brac—ChapStick, condoms, random change found at the bottom of my pockets. But, right now, the sight of the familiar logo causes my stomach to turn.

Grabbing on to the handle, I heave it at the wall across from my bed, delighting in the shattered pieces as they fall to the floor. I climb to my feet, stomping over to the mess, and I grind the heel of my motorcycle boot down hard on the damaged pieces. It’s not enough that they’re broken. I need every piece of that place to be completely destroyed.

A soft knock sounds at my door as I bring my foot down once more, the noise startling me out of the trance I fell into. I blink down at the mess at my feet. I don’t own a vacuum. Or even a broom. This is going to be a bitch to clean up.

The rapping on the door continues, and I run my hands over my face before making my way over to it, hoping to erase any signs of the frustrated tears I’m afraid might have spilled over during my little freak-out sesh.

When I open the door, a familiar set of eyes greets me, concern darkening the already black irises. I’ve only seen them once before, but already, I’d recognize those eyes anywhere. Elder Barker stands before me, his short hair rumpled from sleep, his torso in only a tight white T-shirt, flannel sleep pants covering his legs. I must’ve woken him up with my tantrum.

“Are you okay, Quinn?” Fisher says from behind him.

I didn’t even realize he was there until now, my attention firmly fixed on Barker. My eyes briefly flick over to Fisher as I nod, and then they promptly return to the delicious man in front of me.

There’s something about Elder Barker that calls to me. As I’ve said, his dark eyes are mesmerizing. I feel like I could lose myself in their inky depths for hours…days…years. But it’s more than just his eyes. There’s something that draws me to him. His beautiful, fresh face, unmarred by the years of wear and tear this city can inflict. His innocence. But, mostly, there’s something about him that makes me think he might be like me. Like, if given the chance, he might understand me better than anyone else.

Barker opens his mouth, and I brace myself for the sound of his voice.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

His voice is like velvet. Deep and masculine but not overly so. Goose bumps spread across my skin as his words wash over me. I want him to keep talking. I want him to never stop. I’d listen to him read the dictionary if it meant I could hear his gorgeous voice for the rest of my life. Nothing has ever sounded so…delicious.

I lock eyes with him, my throat bobbing heavily as I swallow down the lump forming there. “Yeah.” My voice cracks, the word sounding wobbly as it escapes my lips. “I’m fine. Just a rough night at work. Then, I came home and got in a fight with a mug.”

Barker’s lips curl up in the corners, and I want nothing more than to pull that full bottom lip between my teeth. I bet it tastes like heaven, a mixture of sweet and spicy and one hundred percent sex.

“You need some help cleaning that up?” he asks, looking over to the mess on my carpet.

When his eyes find the condoms, I see his back stiffen, his eyes briefly returning to mine before flicking down to his feet.

“No, thanks. I’m good.” I want to reach out and take his chin in my hand, returning his gaze to mine. I’m about to do just that when Fisher interrupts our moment.

“Well, if you’re sure you don’t need anything, we’d better be going. We’re not supposed to be out this late. But we heard the noise and wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

Barker’s eyes return to mine at Fisher’s explanation.

I nod. “I’m good, boys. Thanks for looking out.”

Fisher turns with a nod, moving to the stairs just behind the landing in front of my apartment. Barker stays put, neither of us willing to be the first to break eye contact.

I smile at him. He smiles at me. We smile together.

“Elder Barker, it’s time to go,” Fisher barks over his shoulder.

Barker grimaces.

“I guess we’ll see you around,” he says, running his hand over the back of his buzzed head. He shoots me one final smile before turning and joining his companion on the stairs.

Oh, he’ll see me around all right. I’ll make damn sure of it.