Page 60 of Spilled Coffee

Ethan noticed the way his black tee stretched taut across his chest, every contour of muscle visible beneath the fabric. There was something magnetic about the way he moved—not how he moved exactly, but how he simply existed, as if the whole world had paused for him to take up space.

Ethan sighed, and his chest tightened as their eyes met for an instant. The jolt made his breath hitch, and without thinking, heoffered a small, awkward smile, unsure but sincere. The clatter of glasses, bursts of laughter, and the steady thrum of a jukebox in the corner, faded into nothing.

Logan’s expression didn’t change. His gaze just lingered for a beat too long before he turned away.

Every time Ethan reached out, Logan pulled back. His stomach twisted painfully, the sting of rejection raw even though he should’ve been used to it by now.

“I need the head,” he muttered, sliding out of the booth. “Brick, grab me another beer when you hit the bar.”

Brick threw his darts, the thunk echoing as he cursed under his breath. “Seventy—shit, man, I’m buyin’ drinks all night at this rate.”

“Hey, let’s take a breather.” Devon kept his tone light, his eyes tracking Ethan as he headed for the bathroom. “Plenty of time. Night’s still young.”

Ethan shoved through clusters of people without looking up, their voices blurring into an unintelligible hum around him.

The bathroom door squeaked as he pushed it open, the flickering light buzzing like an angry hornet trapped in a glass.

The bathrooms were everything you’d expect from a dive bar: grimy tiles with cracks along the edges, sinks stained with rust, graffiti scrawled on the wall like some chaotic manifesto left by countless drunken strangers. A faucet dripped incessantly, a slow, rhythmic plink that only made the silence more oppressive.

Ethan braced both hands on the edge of one sink and leaned heavily against it, staring at his reflection in the mirror above. The glass was smeared with grime that distorted his features so much he almost didn’t recognize himself anymore. His face looked flushed—a combination of too much alcohol and too little sleep, he guessed. Dark shadows ringed his eyes like bruises from fighting battles no one could see.

Logan’s absence was an ache Ethan had buried deep down inside him, but it wasn’t just that eating at him tonight. It was Devon. The guy was always there, standing on the edges of things with that sly smirk and those probing remarks that wormed their way under your skin no matter how hard he tried to ignore them.

The door creaked and Ethan’s head snapped up as Devon slipped in, hands in his pockets, that fucking smirk still in place.

“Thought you might need company,” he drawled.

Ethan turned, shoulders squared and jaw set tight enough to hurt. “What?” he said with incredulity that made it clear he wasn’t in the mood for this.

Devon didn’t budge—not even an inch. If anything, he seemed more amused by Ethan’s expression than anything else. “You’re wound pretty tight tonight,” he observed casually. “What’s got you so jumpy? Don’t tell me Lockwood’s giving you the cold shoulder again?”

“You need to go.” Ethan turned on the faucet and started washing his hands.

Devon wasn’t done pushing buttons or boundaries, and instead of retreating he stepped closer. “He’s not worth it. But deep down I think you know that.” There was something sharper beneath his words now—something bitter and personal that cut through the usual smugness. “Kabul…” he muttered darkly, “ask him about it sometime.”

“Touch me again,” Ethan growled through gritted teeth, each syllable carrying the raw edge of barely contained fury. “And I’ll fucking end you.” He dried his hands on a paper towel then suddenly shoved forward, his forearm slamming against Devon’s chest with enough force to send him stumbling back a step.

For a moment, the tension threatened to explode. But Devon didn’t falter—if anything, he seemed to feed off Ethan’s mood.He let out a breathless laugh that was more taunt than humor, as if this whole situation amused him. “You’ve got fire, kid,” he said, adjusting the collar of his shirt with deliberate slowness, brushing off invisible dust as if Ethan’s threat had barely registered. “I like that in a man.”

There was no apology—no acknowledgment of the line he’d crossed or how close he’d come to pushing too far. Instead, he now shoved Ethan back, reestablishing control before stepping away entirely.

Straightening his shirt, he turned on his heel and sauntered toward the door. His movements were languid, calculated to exude an air of someone who had won whatever invisible game he believed they were playing.

“Later,” he tossed over his shoulder, the single word dripping with smug satisfaction.

The door creaked as he walked through without looking back.

Ethan stayed where he was, his chest rising and falling in uneven bursts as he struggled to steady his breathing. He gripped the edge of the sink so tightly that his fingers left pale imprints on the porcelain.

He splashed cold water against his face and squeezed his eyes shut against the lingering image of Devon’s smirk that flashed before him.

Kabul.It hung in his mind like smoke from a fire he knew was burning but couldn’t see.What did he mean? Was it meant to unsettle him?Ethan’s reflection stared back from the mirror, but it wasn’t answers staring back at him, but questions.

For all his defiance, somehow Devon had still managed to get under his skin, and worse than that… maybe he’d done it on purpose.

CHAPTER 31

The table was a mess.Empty beer bottles jostled for space with crumpled napkins stained with ketchup and beer foam. A sticky ring marked where Brick had spilled his last shot of whiskey.

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